


Noxious

by dreamtowns



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Relationships, Canon Compliant, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Mild Language, Multi, Piercings, Post Shiratorizawa-Karasuno Match, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tattoos, Texting, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-19 14:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9444887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamtowns/pseuds/dreamtowns
Summary: Shōyō was always described as innocent, vibrant, and sunny. When people looked at him, their first impressions were that 1. He was small 2. He was “pure” and 3. He must be Protected. Sure, sometimes Shōyō’s actions didn’t help his image (i.e., getting intimidated easily, hiding behind the back of someone taller, et cetera), but people seemed to forget that he was sixteen instead of six.Frustrated at being treated as a small child by his team (and practically everyone he met), Shōyō yearned for someone to look at him and think,this here is Hinata Shōyō. Not a child, or a pure first year in need of protecting, just Hinata Shōyō.Was that too much to ask?Cue one Terushima Yūji (with special appearances from Johzenji), and his audacious tendency to kidnap Shōyō for “the high school nightlife” (then again, Shōyō wasn’t complaining).





	1. | O N E |

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Haikyuu!! No copyright intended. It belongs to its’ mangaka: Furudate Haruichi. I apologize for any inaccuracies and/or spelling/grammar errors. I, also, do not intent to offend anyone. 
> 
> Enjoy!!!!

Some of his memories were fleeting, disappearing as quickly as they formed, and Shōyō could count the amount of people that left a mark on his soul on his hand. As of lately, a certain captain has been rearing inside of his thoughts. Their first meeting wasn’t savory, what with Shōyō vainly trying to protect his uncomfortable manager from a captain with a tongue ring. In the end, they went their separate ways, but the memory of Terushima Yūji didn’t fade from his mind. It seemed that everything bright and boisterous reminded Shōyō of Terushima, and it was getting dangerous. Thoughts of that illustrious tongue ring caused him to miss many tosses during practice, and he knew his teammates were getting worried.

It was lust; teenage hormones; but _damn_ if Shōyō didn’t imagine what that tongue ring would feel like.

Of course, all Shōyō could do is imagine. Like the rest of the world, Terushima would look at Shōyō and think, _this here is a child._

Music pulsed on the walls, the beat rattling his lungs. It crawled over every crevice it found, and hummed against the earth. Shōyō sighed, tipping his cup back. The alcohol curled in the pit of his stomach, warm and pleasant as it pooled in his veins. There was a pleasant buzz humming inside of his mind, but Shōyō could still go for a few more drinks before he stopped himself and called it a night.

He snorted into his solo cup (red, of course). _If only the team could see me…_ A laugh slipped off his tongue. If his teammates saw him in a scene such as this, he didn’t think they’d survive. Hell, even Tsukishima made snide remarks over his “innocence”. His upperclassmen seemed hellbent on preserving his alleged purity, going as far as to cover his ears when unsavory topics floated in the air (i.e., sex and the like) or scolding him for cursing.

 _It’s not harming anyone,_ Shōyō thought to himself as he walked pass the dance floor to the kitchen, in need of another drink. Karasuno could keep their delusions if they’d like, so long as it didn’t bleed into Shōyō’s private life. Surprisingly, few loitered the kitchen. Unless they were extremely intoxicated, or refilling their cup, most were either crammed on the dancefloor or littered around the house. As he noticed a puddle of puke in a corner, Shōyō felt a twinge of pity for the owner of the house. The pity didn’t last long, however, and Shōyō busied himself with another drink.

It was barely ten, and Shōyō had already lost sight of his friend. Knowing Kōji, he’d found his nightly partner. Shōyō didn’t care, so long as everything was consensual on both ends. Expertly creating another masterpiece, Shōyō hopped onto the counter and munched on a few snacks that had survived the hours.

It wouldn’t do to get drunk on an empty stomach.

As the song changed to a catchy, upbeat western song, one that Shōyō was unfamiliar with, cheers boomed from all corners of the house. A stray thought entered Shōyō’s mind. _Do I have morning practice tomorrow?_ If he did, he was screwed. Practicing a sport with a hangover was never on Shōyō’s to-do list. He shot off a quick text to Sawamura, making sure his typos were limited to one or two, and felt his ease relax. If there was practice, he’d leave in an hour or so (probably not, because midnight was when the shots would commence and fuck if Shōyō missed that). If there wasn’t, well he’d already told his parents he’d be gone for the night (and that there was a chance he’d miss school).

Surprisingly, his parents were alright with him attending parties as long as he didn’t do anything extremely reckless (“Like drugs,” his mother had said). That was also the night his parents went over safe sex and the like (fully equipped with a PowerPoint Presentation and many, many pamphlets). Shōyō was puzzled over why they gave him the sex talk specifically for men, given that his fifteen-year-old self was perfectly happy in the closet, and his parents told him that he wasn’t subtle in any way.

Natsu, his little sister, just demanded that he buy her “souvenirs” like he was going to a damn amusement park (he bought her key chains but, whatever).

His phone buzzed with a text from his captain.

 **[23:25] Dadchi:** _We do. Please go to bed, Hinata_

“Fuck me,” Shōyō said before draining half of his cup.

“With pleasure,” a voice, deep and sultry, spoke.

Shōyō found himself choking, blinking dazedly at a smirking Terushima Yūji. Apart from seeing him dressed in casual clothes, Terushima hadn’t changed—actually, that was a lie. Dressed in dark, tight jeans, and a shirt that accentuated his muscles, Terushima looked less like a volleyball captain and more like a delinquent. _Well,_ Shōyō thought as he calmed his racing heart. _He does have a tongue ring._

Shōyō ignored the tiny voice in his head that wondered if Terushima had _more_. Instead, he raised an eyebrow, raking his eyes approvingly over Terushima’s figure, and purred, “Are you offering, Terushima?”

Terushima’s dark-haired teammate—Futamata Takeharu; second-year setter—snickered at Terushima’s gob smacked looked. The teen didn’t expect Shōyō to reply with anything else other than embarrassed stutters. “You say it but you can’t take it, Yūji, that’s just sad,” he said, laughing quietly.

“Takeharu,” Terushima whined, an overexaggerated pout on his lips. “So mean!”

Their other friend, Bobata Kazuma, had already polished two cups of alcohol. “What’s Karasuno’s Decoy doing at a place like this?” Bobata questioned, sliding two cups in Terushima’s and Futamata’s direction, and saw Shōyō’s expression cloud.

“I’m not a _child_ , if that’s what you’re asking,” Shōyō said, in a voice that could freeze the ocean.

The three teens raised their hands in the universal symbol of peace.

“Seeing as how Yūji wants to fuck you,” Futamata said, “I highly doubt he sees you as a kid. I’d punch his teeth out if he did.”

Terushima scrunched his nose. “That’s just gross. I mean, I’m nasty but I’m not _that_ nasty.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, uh, Hinata,” Bobata said, running his fingers through his hair. “I just didn’t think Karasuno held the party types.”

Shōyō snorted, but it was the truth. One would think Tanaka’s and Nishinoya’s idea of a party would consist of the scene Shōyō was in but, in reality, it was filled with video game marathons that they’d rope the other second years into attending. (their idea of a “wild” night was beginning and finishing a game in one night). He loved them, but his upperclassmen would be completely lost and overwhelmed at a party like this one.

“As far as I know,” Shōyō said, “I’m the only one attending these things.”

His phone buzzed once more; though this time it was a text from his fellow manager, Yachi Hitoka. Shōyō furrowed his eyebrows together, why was Yacchan texting him?

 **[23:46] Yacchan:** _please don’t forget morning practice Shō-kun!!! You’ll make Daichi-san mad!!! Also, b careful!!! I saw your story so I know your out!_

By “story”, Shōyō knew the girl was referring to his snapchat. Out of Karasuno, only Yachi, his childhood friend Acchan, and a few other partygoers knew his snapchat. If he gave it to his team, they’d wreak havoc. Sometimes, Yachi would follow him to a party and stick to the few other introverts that dared to come. Like him, Yachi was tired of people looking at her as something pure and innocent—Shōyō saw how competitive the blonde got with beer pong and body shots; she was no innocent. She’d made fast friends with Kuribayashi Runa, ironically Johzenji’s manager, that way (those two dominated drinking games together—Shōyō was both amazed and horrified).

But he definitely shipped it.

 **[23:49] Me:** _don’t worry, Yacchan!!! But I just met some1 lol so who knows_

The reply was instant.

 **[23:49] Yacchan:** _oml Shō-kun b safe_

 **[23:50] Me:** _always_

Shōyō made himself another drink, right as someone started calling for jelly shots. “We should get out the kitchen,” Shōyō said, hearing the impeding footsteps. “Unless you want to get trampled.”

“Jelly shots?” Bobata smirked, downing the rest of his drink.

“Hell _yes_ ,” he and Futamata chorused.

The air was sweltering from all the body heat, so Shōyō made his way outside. On his way, he spotted Koji leading someone to one of the many bedrooms littering the house. He caught his friends’ eye, and gave him a thumbs up. Koji smirked in reply. Terushima trailed behind him, a shadow at his heels, and Shōyō felt eyes upon his silhouette. He snickered. If Shōyō was unsubtle, Terushima was transparent.

It was quieter outside. In the house, cheers and shouts echoed from the kitchen. “Jelly shots!” was a repeated cheer. Despite the party scene, and the alcohol in their veins, Shōyō was quiet as he sat next to Terushima on the back porch. Terushima was oddly quiet, then again Shōyō didn’t know the teen very well outside of an official game.

_“Shots! Shots! Shots!”_

They chatted quietly with one another, finding volleyball as a common ground. Shōyō learned many things about Terushima that, normally, he’d never expect. Like how the teen was in Class 7 (college prep), or how he had two other siblings, and that, even with his body art, he was a fucking nerd (but Shōyō couldn’t talk because get him started on photography and he would never shut up). The moon rose higher in the sky, and a few drinking games commenced indoors, and they settled into comfortable silence.

Shōyō wondered how long they’d been speaking.

By the time Terushima spoke, Shōyō was finished with his drink. “So uh did you mean it?” he questioned. Shōyō glanced at him. From what little Shōyō knew of him, Terushima didn’t appear as a type to be vulnerable yet insecurity glittered in his eyes.

“I did,” Shōyō said. There was no use in sugarcoating or using flowery metaphors. “Before we do, though, is that tongue ring your only piercing?”

Terushima shook his head. “Nah, I’ve a few cartilage piercings—and a nose ring. I’ve a few tattoos, too.”

Shōyō flushed. If anything was his weakness, it was piercings and tattoos. _Fuck_. “Sexy,” Shōyō murmured, setting his drink aside. “How long have you been here?”

“I live here,” Terushima said, eyes crinkling with his smile.

Shōyō raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Do you always throw parties?”

Terushima laughed; it was a pleasant sound to his ears. “Johzenji’s not known as the party school for nothing, y’know.”

“Good luck cleaning up the puke,” Shōyō snickered.

“That’s Bobata’s job,” Terushima said flatly.

Shōyō snorted, before glancing at the light flush sprawling over Terushima’s cheeks. “How many tattoos do you have?”

“How many do _you_ have?”

“One,” Shōyō replied. Only his parents knew of his tattoo, and what it meant. It was small, easily hidden by wristbands and the like. Seeing no harm, Shōyō showed Terushima the inside of his wrist. Two black, crow-like wings were inked onto the small of his wrist, delicate but strong. “I got it the day after Karasuno won against Shiratorizawa.”

Terushima whistled. “Nice.”

“Your turn, hotshot,” Shōyō smirked.

He expected Terushima to rattle off a number, but the older teen surprised him by pulling him close. They were flush against one another, noses bumping, and Shōyō saw the flecks of brown swirling in Terushima’s eyes. His lips brushed against Shōyō’s ear, causing him to shiver, and he whispered, “How about I show you instead, _Shōyō_?”

Mentally, he sent apologies to Yachi.

There was no way in hell he’d make it to practice in the morning.

 

When Shōyō woke, rays of the morning sun poked through Terushima’s room. He groaned, not wanting to deal with shit, and burrowed himself deeper against Terushima’s warmth. He was sweaty, but extremely sated (who wouldn’t be, after legitimately four rounds of sex). He had a small migraine (they had a few shots in the kitchen before escaping to the bedroom, but Shōyō drank water and ate snacks like it was the end of the world—he wasn’t going to have a terrible hangover, no thank you), and his throat was parched, but, overall, Shōyō was content.

(the sex was amazing, so that was a plus—Shōyō thanked the creator of tongue rings because _goddamn_ ).

Terushima snickered quietly, fingers curled in Shōyō’s hair. “Morning,” he murmured. Shōyō’s toes curled. Even his voice, when he was half-asleep, was sexy. What the fuck was this?

“Time?” Shōyō mumbled. His limbs were heavy.

“Eight,” Terushima said.

Shōyō hummed, noncommittal, before his eyes widened. He sat upright, but his urgency halted as pain sprawled over his lower body. “Fuck!” Shōyō said, panic erasing the last dredges of sleep clinging to his mind. “ _Fuck_! I’m dead!”

Ignoring Terushima’s questioning look, Shōyō reached for his phone. Somehow, it was charging? Checking his alerts, he winced as he saw the missed calls and text messages from his teammates around six in the morning. _I’m going to die._ Ignoring the others, he looked at Yachi’s.

 **[6:09] Yacchan:** _I kno ur fucking some1 rn_

 **[6:09] Yacchan:** _I covered for u, saying you had a fever_

 **[6:09] Yacchan:** _and ur parents made u stay home_

 **[6:10] Yacchan:** _told sme bs of how you don’t get sick and they panicked_

 **[6:10] Yacchan:** _which u don’t but not the pt_

 **[6:10] Yacchan:** _but its cool_

 **[6:10] Yacchan:** _your safe_

 **[6:11] Yacchan:** _also_

 **[6:11] Yacchan:** _Terushima??? Nice_

Shōyō breathed a sigh of relief. He could always count on Yachi to cover his ass. After he texted his parents to let them know that he was safe, and found someplace to sleep, he fell back against Terushima’s chest. “We’re good,” Shōyō said as Terushima resumed playing with his curls. “Yacchan covered for me.”

“Yacchan?”

“Yachi Hitoka, my manager,” Shōyō said, feeling Terushima’s hand pause. He rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, Yacchan is gayer than me.”

Terushima snorted.

“Don’t you have school?” Shōyō questioned as he scrolled through all his unread messages.

“A pipe burst,” Terushima said. “So we’re free until next Wednesday.”

“Lucky,” Shōyō said, pouting. “Wish I didn’t have school until then.”

Someone pounded their fist against Terushima’s room door. It was Bobata. “Yūji!” the teen yelled. “Get the fuck up and clean the puke!”

“That’s your job, Kazu!” Terushima replied with a laugh in his voice.

There was a short pause, and then Bobata barged into the room with flaming eyes. “Like hell it is,” he growled. “I’m not touching it, the fuck.” Bobata then blinked, noticing Shōyō’s obvious nakedness, and smirked, “Well, well, the decoy really _is_ as tainted as he says.”

Shōyō rolled his eyes. “Go clean up puke, Bobata-san.”

Bobata’s jaw dropped and laughter floated from outside the bedroom.

“You picked a good one, Yūji!” Futamata laughed, pulling a spluttering Bobata out of the bedroom. He winked before he closed the door behind him. “Don’t wear him out too much, Yūji!”

By the time Shōyō managed to shower and redress, it was eleven. When he reentered Terushima’s surprisingly spotless kitchen, Bobata and Futamata were in a heated discussion over the supposed sexiness of high heels. Terushima watched them verbally leap at one another’s throats, enraptured, as he ate breakfast. Shōyō caught his eye, and Terushima motioned towards a plate that steamed with food.

He ate quietly, savoring the taste, and watched the verbal brawl before him. It stopped, however, when Bobata noticed him and narrowed his eyes.

“You,” he said, pointing. Shōyō blinked. “We’re exchanging numbers.”

“Exchange!” Futamata yelled, whipping out his phone with an alarming speed. As the exchange took place, Futamata giggled, “We’re going to be besties, Shōyō.”

Shōyō blinked. “Uh…”

Futamata’s eyes widened. “Oh, do you not want us to call you Shōyō?”

Shōyō shook his head, smiling. “I don’t mind.”

“Call me Takeharu!” Futamata grinned, and motioned towards Bobata. “Call this grumpy pants Kazuma.”

“Oi!” Bobata swatted at Futamata, who dodged the attack with a laugh. “Just Kazu is fine, H-Shōyō.”

Shōyō finished his breakfast before blinking at the three second years before him. In a fashion similar to that of Natsu, he pointed to Terushima—“Yū-chan.”—to Bobata: “Kacchan.”—to Futamata: “Haru-chan.”

There was silence, and then the three pointed at Shōyō and chorused, “Shō-chan.”

Shōyō’s laugh echoed in the hallways of Terushima’s home.

After breakfast was eaten, and dishes were washed, Shōyō helped the others in cleaning Terushima’s home. Instead of spreading out with different tasks, Bobata suggested that they clean with one another. Futamata agreed with enthusiasm, chirping about teamwork and the like. Surprisingly, they worked well with one another. While there were some distractions (i.e., when they all trudged to the living room, Futamata saw it fit to pull Bobata into a playful kiss, and Shōyō found himself getting pounced on a second later), remnants of the party disappeared in three hours.

“Oh, man, wait till you meet the others, Shō-chan,” Bobata said once they were all lazing about in Terushima’s bedroom. Bobata was on the floor, Futamata was twirling himself in Terushima’s chair, and Shōyō was on the bed with Terushima. It was weird; normally Shōyō would be home after he woke in someone else’s arms. They never asked him to stay, like Terushima did.  Or let him use their shower, or make breakfast for him.

“Others?” Shōyō asked.

“There’s Higashiyama, Numajiri, Īzaka, Tsuchiyu, and Kuribayashi!” Bobata listed off. “Runa-chan is a first year, like—,”

“Oh, I already know Kuribayashi,” Shōyō said, then continued, at their puzzled looks, “We met at a party near…Datekō, I think? She hit it off really well with my friend, Yacchan.”

“Huh,” Futamata said, nodding. “Wait—is that the blonde chick I always see her with?”

“Short, a little clip in her hair,” Shōyō listed off. “Nervous?” mentally, he added: _gay as fuck for your manager._

Futamata nodded. “Yup.”

“Yeah,” Shōyō said. “That’s Yacchan.”

Shōyō spent the next hour or so with the three members of Johzenji, getting to know them at a casual level. His phone had buzzed with a text from his mom, wondering when her son would “stop having sex and come home for dinner”. The three upperclassmen spiraled into laughter at the text, tears spilling from their eyes, and Bobata snickered, “Man, I wish my mom was that cool!”

“I’ll take you home,” Terushima said once the laughter subsided, stretching his arms above his head. Shōyō found himself distracted at the way the muscles flexed in front of him. “Don’t mind me taking you on my bike?”

“Kinky,” Futamata purred.

“Better watch out, Shō-chan,” Bobata said, a laugh on his tongue.

Shōyō’s stomach was beginning to hurt with all the laughter spilling out of his lips.

“Stop being nasty,” Terushima said, rolling his eyes. Shōyō collected his belongings (which consisted of his phone, jacket, and house keys), and Terushima grabbed his keys before pointing at his friends. “Don’t fuck on my bed.”

Futamata smiled innocently. “Fuck Kazuma? On _your_ bed?”

Together, they chorused: “It’s more likely than you think.”

“Oh, my, God,” Shōyō gasped, laughter burning his lungs.

Terushima huffed, ruefully shaking his head, before pulling Shōyō out of the bedroom. “Wash my sheets!” he yelled, and there was a faint, “ok,” from Bobata. To Shōyō, Terushima sighed, “Can’t believe I have such memes as friends.”

“Best friends,” Shōyō corrected.

His smile was soft as he murmured, “Yeah.”

Terushima’s bike was dressed in black and silver, colors gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. As Shōyō climbed onto the motorcycle, helmet strapped on supportively (“Last thing we need is head injuries,” Terushima had said, handing Shōyō the dark blue headpiece), he realized that the vehicle was treated with careful, loving hands. The engine purred underneath him, and Shōyō tensed expectantly, grasping a tight hold on Terushima’s waist.

“Ready?” the older boy called over the engine.

Shōyō nodded. “Yeah!”

The motorcycle trembled beneath his thighs, and they were off.

There were many moments in Shōyō’s life when he felt like he grew wings—going for that memorable spike, hands slamming the ball onto the other side of the court—but wind whirled past, ruffling his hair, roaring in his ear, and, as he gripped Terushima tighter, there were wings sprouting from his back. Terushima was laughing, a jubilant sound floating to Shōyō’s ears, and Shōyō couldn’t help but laugh with him, shoulders trembling with mirth.

Shōyō had never ridden on a motorcycle before, and adrenaline hummed a song in his veins as Terushima twisted and turned through corners, ripping through streets. His fingers were trembling, but he wasn’t scared. He wasn’t terrified. Shōyō had never felt so safe, and so alive, as he did in that moment, cruising through the curling streets of the Miyagi Prefecture.

“You good, Shō-chan?” Terushima asked, breathlessly, stopping for a moment by the roads that led to the mountains. “You live here, right? By the mountain trails?”

“I’m okay,” Shōyō replied, “and yeah, I live in the mountains.”

“Alrighty,” Terushima said. “Tell me when to turn and everything. I’m unfamiliar up here.”

“I will!”

Five minutes later, Terushima pulled up in Shōyō’s driveway. Natsu was playing with the neighborhood twins, and the three four-year-olds scampered about the front yard underneath the watchful eye of Hinata’s father, Hinata Akio. All movement paused, however, when Terushima cruised into the gravelly driveway as though he belonged there. Natsu squealed Shōyō’s name when he took off Terushima’s helmet, his bright curls evident in the dimming sunlight.

“Thanks for the ride,” Shōyō said amidst Natsu’s shrieks.

“No problem,” Terushima said as Shōyō climbed off the bike. “I’ll text you.”

“Kay,” Shōyō said, laughter brimming in his eyes. “Don’t forget to wash your sheets.”

“I’m going to wash them _twice_ ,” Terushima laughed.

A minute passed—a heartbeat, a breath, a smile—and Terushima was fading along the outline of the trees, the sinking sun his horizon.

“Nii-chan!” Natsu yelled. “Play with us!”

“Play! Play!” the twins echoed.

The rest of his night was spent entertaining children, dodging his mothers’ prying questions, ignoring his fathers’ suggestive smirk whenever his mother asked about, “that motorcycle boy”, and sending a mass text to his teammates, apologizing about his “sickness”. Positivity poured into his phone from the members, full of well-wishes and get-betters. Tsukishima was the only one who didn’t respond, but that was normal. Yachi sent him a wink emoji, following a “had fun, Shō-kun?”, and Shōyō replied with: _I’m feeling so attacked rn Yacchan_.

His homework was finished, miraculously, so Shōyō plopped onto his bed. His thoughts whirled in his mind, and Shōyō found his mind drifting back towards a boy with a tongue ring and uppercut.

His phone pinged.

 **[20:15] Tsukki:** _bundle up from now on, idiot_

Shōyō raised an eyebrow.

 **[20:16] Me:** _AWWW TSUKKI YOU DO CARE ABOUT ME!!!!!!_

 **[20:17] Tsukki:** _I hope you die._

 **[20:18] Me:** _TSUKKIIII_

His laughter floated down the hall, piquing Natsu’s interest. She barged into his room, and asked, exuberantly, “Nii-chan, what are you doin’? Who’re you chatting?”

“Tsukki,” Shōyō replied, helping his sister up on his bed. She curled up, tucked into his side, a warmth that made him smile. Her confusion was sprawled over her face, a question mark, as she pondered over whom this “Tsukki” was.

“The boy with the bike?” Natsu asked, shamelessly trying to peer at his phone.

Shōyō shook his head. “No. That was…someone else.”

“Who?”

“A boy.”

Natsu pouted. “Nii-chan!”

Shōyō smiled. “Natsu!”

“Nii-chan!”

“Natsu!”

“Nii-chan!”

“Natsu!”

His little sister stuck her tongue out at him, before leaving his bedroom with an annoyed huff. Shōyō chuckled, rolling over to his side. His phone pinged with a succession of texts from different numbers.

 **[20:36] Haru-chan:** _SHŌ-CHAN I AM BUT AN INNOCENT_

 **[20:36] Kacchan:** _Yūji banned us from his bedroom :/_

 **[20:36] Yū-chan** : _those sex fiends_

 **[20:36] Yū-chan:** _had sex_

 **[20:36] Yū-chan:** _ON MY UCFKING DESK_

 **[20:36] Yū-chan:** _THEY HAVE BEEN BANNED BLOCKED UNFOLLOWED_

Shōyō laughed, thumbing a reply to Terushima.

 **[20:37] Me:** _you poor thing_

 **[20:37] Yū-chan:** _DON’T MOCK ME IM TRAMATIZED_

 **[20:37] Me:** _sure, jan_

 **[20:37] Yū-chan:** _I’m surrounded by fucking memes wtf tf is this_

 **[20:38] Me:** _xD_

 **[20:39] Yū-chan:** _no_

Shōyō got up and walked towards his bookshelf. To others, it was surprising to see that his room wasn’t plastered with volleyball memorabilia. His room was spacy, and while there were sports magazines littering his desk, and two faded volleyballs in a corner, there was more odds-and-ends dealing with art and photography cluttering his room. One thing many assumed was that he disliked reading—Shōyō loved reading, in fact. What he disliked was reading a story for an assignment. In his opinion, it sucked all the joy out of the story, making it dull to his eyes.

His fingers gently brushed over old, used, battered sketchbooks. Its pages were filled to the brim with artwork no one ever saw before, the stained ink words he could never form. It’d been a while since Shōyō painted, or drew, because his time was consumed with volleyball. Taking one of them with delicate care, he flipped to an empty page. Ideas fizzled inside of his mind, images and designs burning before revitalizing like Aphrodite, the Greek Goddess of Love and Beauty, who rose from the seafoam with grace unseen before.

The moon rose in the sky, almost smiling, as Shōyō lost himself in his art.

He woke to a buzzing phone, and paint-stained fingers. Shōyō blinked, strips of sunlight burning his eyes, and groggily sat upright. Scraps of discarded paper, pages of half-drawings, pages of full drawings, littered the floor around him. His phone buzzed annoyingly, and Shōyō mumbled, “I’m coming. I’m coming. Sheesh.”

He reached for his phone and squinted at the screen, dredges of slumber clinging to the edges of his mind. He yawned, and clicked on his inbox. Belatedly, he took note of the time. It was eight in the morning. The first text was from his mother.

 **[6:29] Mom:** _you were like the dead when I came to wake you, Shōyō, so stay home for the day and relax, ok? I’ve made you lunch! It’s in the fridge._

 **[6:36] Dad:** _please sanitize any furniture you use_

Shōyō snorted at the way his father’s trail of thought continuously headed towards the gutter.

The next was from one of his teammates.

 **[7:54] Suga:** _Hi, Hinata-kun, I hope you’re feeling well! Daichi and I are going to visit you after practice, is that alright?_

 **[6:52] Yamayama-kun:** _oi, dumbass, get beter_

 **[8:12] Yamagucci:** _I’m bringing some worksheets to your place after practice, ok? Feel better, Hinata!_

 **[6:16] Guardian Deity:** _RY_ _Ū AND I ARE COMING OVERR AFTER PRACTIC KAY?!??! FEEL BETTER SHŌYŌ_

There was a soft smile on his lips—Karasuno truly was another family. An oblivious one, but a family nonetheless. His phone buzzed once more; this time, though, it wasn’t from his family or teammates.

 **[8:34] Yū-chan:** _the sex fiends are on a date and I’m bored so whatcha doin_

 **[8:35] Me:** _“whatcha doin” what are you, twelve_

 **[8:35] Yū-chan:** _xcuse you im twelve and a half binch_

 **[8:36] Me:** _considering the things we did a few nights ago, I’m concerned_

 **[8:36] Yū-chan:** _XD_

 **[8:37] Me:** _no_

 **[8:37] Yū-chan:** _fkcin rood_

 **[8:38] Me:** _lol what do you want??_

 **[8:38] Yū-chan:** _get dressed I’m outside_

 **[8:39] Me:** _wh a t_

Shōyō raised an eyebrow, blinking, right as someone began to knock obnoxiously on his front door, chanting: “Shō-chan!”

“Why,” Shōyō deadpanned as he opened his door, staring at an unapologetic Terushima Yūji.

Terushima pouted. “How rude!”

“ _Why_ ,” Shōyō repeated, stressing the words.

“Get dressed,” Terushima grinned blindingly. “We’re going shopping!”

 


	2. | T W O |

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Haikyuu!! No copyright infringement intended. This is purely for entertainment purposes. Haikyuu!! belongs to Furudate Haruichi. I apologize for any spelling errors and the like. I also apologize for any inaccuracies of the manga/anime and Japanese culture in general. I do not intend to offend anyone, and I am still researching.
> 
> Enjoy! Sorry for taking so long!

The air around the Hinata household was peaceful—birds chirped, signing their songs, woodland animals scurried about on the forest floor, the wind drifted lazily through the mountain—but inside the household wasn’t the same as out. There was a rummaging sound echoing down the hallway, from the kitchen, and Shōyō, who was in his room, narrowed his eyes. The subsequent shout trembled the glass of his mirror.

“YŪ-CHAN GET OUT OF MY FRIDGE!”

There was a pause, and a: “BUT I’M _HUNGRY_ , SHŌ-CHAN!”

“NOT MY PROBLEM!”

Shōyō continued his search for clothes, rooting through his closet. A few minutes later, there was an ensemble of black, ripped skinny jeans, a white, loose but form-fitting, tee, and a black jacket (because it was cold, what with the New Year fast approaching) laid neatly on his bed. Footsteps scampered towards his bedroom, and Terushima’s whining voice floated down the hallway.

“There’s like no more food in my house, Shō-chan, and I’m a growing boy, so I need f—,” Terushima stopped himself short, paused in the threshold of Shōyō’s doorway, blinking at the scene before him. Shōyō was still half naked, his shirt half-way on, but Terushima raked his eyes shamelessly over the smooth expanse of his skin, smirking at the marks he’d left on the others’ skin from the previous day. He leaned against the doorway. “If we didn’t have things to do, those clothes would be decorating your floor right now.”

Shōyō rolled his eyes, muttering, “Perv,” and continued pulling his shirt over his head. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“Shopping,” Terushima smiled, making himself comfortable on Shōyō’s bed. His limbs sprawled over the crumbled sheets, and made quite the view. Shōyō pushed those provocative thoughts out of his mind, and continued dressing. If he kept thinking about it, he’d end up washing his sheets to rid the evidence.

“You want to drown yourself in clothes?” Shōyō said instead, covering his tattoo with a handful of bracelets. “Because you’re—bored?”

Terushima tilted his head to the side, a mimicry of a curious puppy almost, and said, “Who said anything about clothes, Shō-chan?”

Shōyō blinked, puzzled at the mysterious smirk gracing Terushima’s lips, and grabbed his keys. “I need to be home before four,” he said.

Terushima smiled and said, “We’ll see,” before grasping Shōyō’s wrist, pulling him in the direction of his bike. “Time for an adventure,” Terushima laughed; it was such a brimming laugh Shōyō couldn’t help but laugh too.

Twenty minutes whirled by, and Shōyō slid off Terushima’s bike with legs that felt like gelatin. As he begrudgingly tried to regain feeling in his thighs, he watched Terushima lock and secure his bike, keys clinking from where they were clipped onto his belt loop. Terushima observed the security of his bike with a satisfied hum before turning to Shōyō, smirking.

“Let’s go,” he said, smoothly wrapping his arm around Shōyō’s shoulders and tucking him into his side.

The fluid, almost graceful, action made Shōyō snort, a smile pulling at the edges of his lips, and Terushima smiled too, finding it contagious. Shōyō found himself getting pulled inside of a large, sprawling grocery store, which also doubled as a farmers’ market. Half was inside a building; the other half was outside with tables and carts and the like. Vendors called out their products, recommending their goods to the various shoppers.

Shōyō’s eyes were wide as he soaked it all in; all the bright colors, all the action, all the vibrancy before his eyes.  

Terushima grinned and turned in the direction of the market that was inside. “Let’s go grocery shopping, Shō-chan!”

Shōyō rolled his eyes with exasperation as Terushima pulled him along. Inside of the market was as bright and vivacious as the outside, and Terushima greeted various people as they made their way to the dairy section. He grabbed two baskets and plopped one of them into Shōyō’s hands. “We need a lot of milk,” Terushima told him as he opened one of the freezers. “One, because I’m going to make milkshakes, and two, because Kazu is a milk whore.”

Shōyō snorted, but he was curious. Did Terushima live with his parents? Did he live with Futamata and Bobata? Did he live alone? Despite wishing to know the answers, it wasn’t Shōyō’s business. Dismay sunk in his lungs at the realization that he didn’t know Terushima that well. They were barely friends.

“Shō-chan,” Terushima pulled Shōyō out of his thoughts. A mountain of ice cream was in his hands. “What’s your favorite flavor?”

Shōyō blinked, staring at the pile in Terushima’s arms. “Um…chocolate?”

“Me too,” Terushima grinned. He dumped the tubs of ice cream in their baskets. Shōyō lost count after twelve. “Kazu likes the birthday cake mix, and Takeharu likes strawberry.”

“One of my teammates loves anything strawberry flavored,” Shōyō said, mind drifting towards the cold and enigmatic Tsukishima Kei. His aloof image was destroyed when Yamaguchi had told him that Tsukishima had once cried over rotting strawberries and used to wear dinosaur onesies until he was thirteen.

“He’d get along with Takeharu, then,” Terushima said before whirling around, yelling, “To the produce section!”

The next two hours was spent with a wild and vivacious Terushima set loose in a farmer’s market. Shōyō would scurry after him in one aisle only to find him halfway across the store by then. Most would have gotten annoyed with Terushima within ten minutes, but every time he had looked back, Shōyō was striding after him with laughter on his lips and sunshine in his eyes.

They had faced a small dilemma of carrying the groceries on the bike but Terushima cruised through the back streets of Miyagi to his home with cautious care as Shōyō held a tight grasp on the groceries and on Terushima. They made it to Terushima’s home safely, and Shōyō breathed a sigh of relief when his feet touched stable ground.

Hearing the relieved sigh, Terushima pouted. “It wasn’t _that_ bad!”

“No,” Shōyō deadpanned. “It was horrible.”

Terushima wilted.

Shōyō’s laugh drifted in the wind.

“Laugh it up!” Terushima scowled, but there was a teasing gleam in his eyes. “We’ll see whose laughing when you need a ride, Shō-chan! We’ll see who’s laughing then!”

Shōyō rolled his eyes and futilely muffled his snickers. With some struggle, due to the amount of grocery bags in his arms, Terushima managed to unlock his front door and pushed it open with his foot. They shuffled inside and, once the groceries were placed on Terushima’s counters, set to pack them away. Mostly, Shōyō handed Terushima the items since he had no idea where everything went.

“So,” Shōyō said when they were done, leaning against the counter. “What else have you planned for me?”

“Hmm,” Terushima tilted his head to the side. “I dunno – what do you want to do?”

“Well, considering I’m supposedly sick, I’m on bed rest,” Shōyō said, lips quirking upwards.

Terushima raised an eyebrow. “Sick?” he echoed.

Shōyō nodded. “Basically, I skipped the last two days of school.”

 _“Shō-chan,_ how naughty of you,” Terushima teased, smirking. He wagged his finger in mock disapproval. “Tsk, tsk, such an example you’re setting for impressionable young minds.”

“Oh?” Shōyō laughed. “And you’re obviously a model student?”

Terushima blinked innocently. “Why, I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Shō-chan.”

Shōyō shook his head, laughter bubbling in his throat, and an idea blossomed in his head. “You have any games?”

“Don’t mean to brag,” Terushima smirked, “but I have an impressive gaming cave.”

 _Gaming cave?_ Shōyō raised an eyebrow and deadpanned, “Nerd.”

“Says the boy who can _rattle_ off random facts on cameras at will!”

“Look who’s talking, Mr. I’m-In-Class-Seven!”

Terushima sniffed. “I’m too cool for school, Shō-chan. We’ve discussed this.”

Shōyō tried, vainly, to hide his amusement. “Kacchan told me you’ve never missed a day of class.” He giggled when he saw Terushima’s smirk wither. “Still _‘too cool for school’_ , Yū-chan?”

“Lies!” Terushima yelled. “All lies! Don’t listen to Kazu!”

Shōyō snorted but swallowed his teasing retorts. Mirth rose in his veins and floated about lazily. After pouting and whining about Bobata’s supposed betrayal (“At least Takeharu hasn’t wounded me so.” “Yet.” “Yet?! What do you mean _yet_? Shō-chan!? Answer me!”), Terushima beckoned Shōyō to follow him to his basement. Peering at the steps leading to the underground room, Shōyō raised an eyebrow.

Dryly, he asked, “I’m not going to see any sex toys or machines down there, right?”

Caught off-guard by the question, Terushima stumbled on the steps. He whirled his head around, staring at the smirking first year. “The _things_ that come out of your _mouth_ , Shō-chan,” he said.

Shōyō’s smirk widened as he purred, “Oh, I can do a lot of things with my mouth.” Shōyō felt a wicked glee at the sight of Terushima’s darkening eyes, and felt a fluttering thrill when he continued. “But I believe you promised me Mario Kart?”

Terushima’s face fell as he pouted, “Stop teasing me, Shō-chan!”

Shōyō shook his head, and echoed Futamata’s words: “You say it but you can’t take it, Yū-chan, that’s just sa—o-oi, watch th-those f-f-fin— _Yū-chan!”_

Laughing, Shōyō tried in vain to escape Terushima’s tickling hands. He flew down the stairs, laughter floating in the air, and paused in his hurried steps at the sight of Terushima’s basement. It was Gamer heaven. Shelves were filled with video games and movies. Numerous consoles were neatly placed and arranged around a large, plasma screen TV. Shōyō couldn’t tell how large it was except that it was _large_ , and there were two medium sized TVs set up at an angle on the walls. A massive, stretching U-shaped couch was placed in the middle of the room, direct sight of the game systems, and four bean bag chairs were placed comfortably in the space before it.

Posters of games lined the walls in eccentric fashion. There was no rhyme or reason to their placement. As Shōyō wandered around in awe, he noticed that there was, indeed, an actual fridge set up in the basement. He opened it, and saw copious amounts of junk food and soda, various brands that he commonly saw and brands that he’d never heard of before.

“You like?” Terushima asked, grinning, from where he was leaning against the wall.

“Love it,” Shōyō murmured, blinking.

“I’m proud of this room,” Terushima said, moving over to set up the game system they were going to use. “I spent months finding random jobs to do along with my actual job to save up enough money to slowly add more to it.” His gaze was far away, drifting into a memory, and Shōyō found himself entranced by the way the light of the room hit Terushima’s face. “Once Kazu and Takeharu figured out what was going on, they were adamant that they contributed too. Kazu searched for games that were on sale and cheap but still good quality. Takeharu looked for furniture and room designing stuff. I mostly did the consoles and the TVs.”

Shōyō perched on one of the bean bags, enthralled in the story Terushima unraveled.

“And once the team found out what I was doing, man, they went wild raising funds for me,” Terushima continued, soft laughter on his lips, a gentle smile on his face. His eyes were warm. “The fridge was my managers’ idea, actually, since she didn’t like the idea of having to walk up and down the stairs every time she got hungry.”

“That’s so sweet,” Shōyō smiled. Although Karasuno was like another family to him (an oblivious one nonetheless), Shōyō didn’t think they would go out of their way for a project like this. Sure, Sugawara and Sawamura and (maybe Asahi) Tanaka or Nishinoya would, but they were burdened by university applications and mock exams.

“Yeah,” Terushima murmured.

The game system (the Wii – though Shōyō didn’t know what version it was) booted up with noise, and Terushima handed Shōyō a wheel controller.

“I’m going to kick your _ass_ ,” Terushima told him as he pressed START when prompted to. The loading screen for Mario Kart drifted across the TV, and Terushima settled in the bean bag chair next to Shōyō. “You’re about to race the champion of Mario Kart, Shō-chan.”

Shōyō smirked as he selected his character. He loved mixing it up occasionally.

“We’ll see about that, Yū-chan.”

The later hour found Terushima pouting over a tub of mint ice cream. Shōyō had wrinkled his noise when Terushima took it out of the freezer, and declined the offer, choosing, instead, to have strawberry ice cream. They had played almost nine rounds of Mario Kart, choosing different routes each time they’d begun a new race, and Terushima had lost every single one. Shōyō was starting to think that Johzenji downplayed their abilities and let their captain win.

Terushima was absolutely _horrible_ at Mario Kart.

Shōyō had never known it was possible to be so dreadful at video games (at _Mario Kart_ ) until he played against Terushima.

Shōyō could understand finishing a race in fourth place or, even, seventh, but not last place _every single race._

“I can’t believe I _lost_ ,” Terushima pouted, wilting over the tub of mint ice cream. (which, _ew_ )

Shōyō would have gloated—if Terushima were anyone else, he would’ve—but the teen looked so despaired, wilting over his spoon. “You did your best,” he said, trying to cheer up the elder teen. “You fought valiantly – like a warrior.”

Terushima perked up. “I did, didn’t I?” but then his eyes drifted towards the game consoles, and he wilted again. “Those – those _bastards._ ” Shōyō raised an eyebrow. “They faked being losers so I could _win_! Ooh, they’re all getting twenty extra laps around the school when practice starts up.”

Shōyō took a picture of Terushima, with the tub of ice cream in his lap, his eyes blazing, eyebrows furrowed together, fists clenched at the Wii, and captured it as: _#rip Johzenji (20 extra laps)_ when he posted it to his snapchat story. Shōyō finished his ice cream, listening to Terushima’s surprisingly detailed plans of revenge, and watched as Terushima pouted and wilted once more at the thought of being played for a fool by his closest friends.

His mood swings reminded Shōyō of a certain Ace of Fukurōdani. At the thought of Bokuto, Shōyō wondered, briefly, how Akaashi was doing. The last time they’d talked, the setter was taking Bokuto to his first concert for an upcoming indie rock band.

Shōyō set his bowl to the side and licked his lips. “Cheer up, Yū-chan,” he said.

“I _can’t!_ My life has been but a _lie!”_

 _And people call me dramatic,_ Shōyō thought.

Terushima switched tactics. Instead of plotting revenge, he fake-wept over his mint ice cream (which, again, _ew_ ). Shōyō hummed, mind racing over thoughts of how to raise Terushima’s spirits, and an idea bubbled forth from the edges of his mind. He smirked.

“It’s just – they gave me a _trophy_ and-and m—what are you doing?” Terushima cut himself off mid weep, peering at Shōyō curiously.

“It’s _hot_ , Yū-chan,” Shōyō told him, peeling off his jacket and shoes.

Terushima stared, thoughts of video games and fake championships abandoned in his mind as Shōyō slipped his shirt over his head, revealing his muscled torso. Shōyō’s head tilt would’ve been adorable, and his stripping innocuous, but the smirk on his lips ruined his saintly image. Terushima blinked, imaging all the pleasurable things they could be doing in that moment, and Shōyō, who had seen the lust rising in Terushima’s eyes, smiled.

“Ne, ne, _Yūji,_ ” Shōyō murmured, voice dark and husky, a teasing mouth against taut skin. Terushima’s lust rose to unparalleled heights at the sound of his full name dripping from Shōyō’s lips. “Do you want to know the things I can do with my mouth?”

 _Hell. Yes,_ was Terushima’s only thought as he pulled Shōyō closer. 

* * *

 

 

“MY _EYES –_ MY _INNOCENCE_ – MY _PURITY_ _—_ ,”

“Shut the hell up, Kazu. You have negative innocence given the things you and Takeharu get into behind closed doors.”

Shōyō laughed as he slipped on his clothes. He grimaced, shuddering slightly, at the stickiness he felt. He was extremely sweaty (but very, _very_ sated), and, honestly, could do with a nice, warm bath, but he didn’t bring any spare changes of clothes. He didn’t think he’d get to have another two rounds of steaming sex with Terushima two days in a row.

“Shō-chan,” Terushima spoke, grabbing his attention. The teen was propped up on his elbows, eyes dark as he watched Shōyō put on his clothes (in the background, a person Shōyō didn’t know was snickering at a wailing Bobata, and Futamata was whispering, “Get it, Yūji,” by the staircase). “You can use my shower again.”

  The teen snickering at Bobata paused, and a smirk curled his lips. “Oh? _Again_? What’s this?”

Futamata rolled his eyes, pushing the teens’ shoulder. “You spend way too much time on Tunglr. “

“ _Tumblr,_ Takeharu! _Tumblr!”_

“Tunble.”

“Tumblr.”

“Tunbler.”

“Tumblr.”

“Tingle.”

“You’re not even _trying_!”

Bobata wiped his eyes. “That’s the name of an elf in that DreamWorks movie, Haru.”

Shōyō turned to Terushima and frowned, “I don’t have a change of clothes.”

Terushima waved his hand dismissively. “You can wear my clothes, Shō.”

Shōyō nodded and, as he ascended the stairs, the teen arguing with Futamata purred, “Didn’t know my captain was such a _kinky_ motherfucker.”

“Stop attacking me in my own home, Arata!”

Their laughter floated in the air.

Shōyō spent his time in the shower, a good thirty minutes, relaxing his tense muscles underneath the warm beads of water. When he got out, there was a neat pile of folded clothes on Terushima’s bed waiting for him. There was a small note atop the sweater, and it said: _don’t worry, I haven’t worn the boxers. They’re new, and we’re all in the game room! Hurry, since I’m making smoothies xD_. Shōyō snorted at the parting emoji, and dressed quickly. He made a soft noise when he noticed that Terushima had, thoughtfully, given him a pair of socks since it was cold in his home regardless of the time of day.

Although he rolled up Terushima’s sweats, it still hung loosely over his hips, but the shirt was large and extremely comfortable, smelling of soft flowers in the summers’ breeze. He made his way to the game room, passing through a kitchen that appeared to have gone through a maelstrom of activity via teenage exuberance. Boisterous laughter erupted from the game room, and Shōyō listened to the sounds of the four boys playing against one another.

As he entered the room, he noticed they were enthralled in a game he’d never played before. Shōyō wasn’t into video games (unless it was Mario Kart) so he didn’t recognize the game that brandished guns and war zones and weaponry that would make every pacifist worldwide cry. Since the bean bags were occupied by lanky, though muscled, limbs, Shōyō plopped on the sprawling couch and watched the boys play.

While Terushima seemed to be horrible at racing games, he dominated games that were an amalgam of war and strategy. _Well,_ he thought to himself, _you don’t become a captain of a sports’ team by being handsome._ And Terushima was a very handsome teen, and his image went in his favor. As he watched them go through their current mission, his phone buzzed.

 **[16:26] Bokutooo:** _baby crowwwwwww_

Shōyō’s snort was smothered by Futamata’s trash talk, and Terushima’s excited yelps when they entered an area only to be ambushed by the supposed enemy.

 **[16:26] Me:** _BOKUT O_

 **[16:26] Bokutooo:** _I HEARD FROM THE GRAPE VINE THAT U WERE SICK??!!?!??!?!_

 **[16:27] Me:** _its just a small cold Bokuto-san, nothing to worry abt_

 **[16:27] Bokutooo:** _u sure? I’LL GET ON A TRAIN RN FOR MY SICK KOHAI JUST ASK_

 **[16:27] Me:** _pls don’t do that, Keiji will murder me_

 **[16:27] Bokutooo:** _nah ur like untouchable_

 **[16:28] Bokutooo:** _if Akaaghi touched u kenam would like,,,not have sex w him for like a year_

Shōyō jolted, like he was burned, and made a shocked, betrayed noise in the back of his throat. Johzenji had fallen quiet for a pause, peering at him curiously and worriedly, but Shōyō’s fingers were flying across his keyboard in a flurry of motion as he scrambled to type out a coherent enough response.

 **[16:28] Me:** _!!!! SICNE WHENW ERE THEY A THING?q???_

Once that text was sent, he opened a new message to Kenma.

 **[16:28] Me:** _KENMA AAAAA SINC E WHEN YWERE YOU AN KEIJI A COUPLE?!?!? AWHAT???? WHY IS BOKUTOO THE ONE TO TELL ME??!???!?!? DDDDDDD:_

 **[16:29] Bokutooo:** _uadskgdh_

 **[16:29] Bokutooo:** _I WASN’ SUPPOSED TO SAY THIS_

 **[16:29] Bokutoo:** _AT SHIT YOU HEARD NOTHING SHOYO_

 **[16:29] Me:** _IM NOT LETTIGN THIS GO_

 **[16:30] Bokutooo:** _fuck me_

 **[16:30] Me:** _ask Tetsu_

 **[16:30] Bokutooo:** ;)

Shōyō flexed his fingers, since they were hurting, and noticed he was being stared at. He blinked at the four teens, an innocent air wrapped around him, and said, “What?”

“Everything ok?” Terushima questioned.

Shōyō nodded. “Yeah – just found out two of my friends are a thing, and someone else just told me about it.” He pouted, crossing his arms like a petulant child, like Natsu when she couldn’t have the last red velvet cupcake for dessert. “I saw it coming, to be honest, but I feel like everything has been a _lie_.”

At that, a dark, mischievous smirk crossed Terushima’s lips. Noticing the shift in their captains’ features, the three other members of Johzenji shifted nervously. Shōyō giggled but paid attention to the incoming text messages from Akaashi and Kenma, who were contrite and apologetic over omitting their relationship. Because Shōyō could be a little shit sometimes, he debated over the level of satisfaction he’d receive if he chose to draw out his “betrayal” whilst Terushima practically terrorized his teammates over his supposed title of Champion of Mario Kart.

 **[16:51]: Kenma :3:** _im sorry Shōyō but I honestly thought you already knew, given the comments that you make and all. I never meant to make you feel untrusted_

 **[16:51] Keiji -_-:** _I apologize Shōyō-san, for omitting my relationship with Kenma. I know how close you are with him, and it wasn’t my intention to make you feel like we didn’t trust you with this delicate information. We simply assumed that you had pieced the facts together and realized we were in a relationship, and never sought to tell you._

“Oi, Shō-chan,” Bobata said, catching sight of his pensive and impish expression. “What are you thinking about?”

Bluntly, Shōyō said, “Debating on if I should have my friends beg for my forgiveness or not.”

There was a stunned silence in the game room, and Shōyō raised an eyebrow at the wide eyes, raised eyebrows, and Terushima’s flushed face. Because he could (and he was in a good mood), Shōyō blew a teasing, flirty kiss in Terushima’s direction and smirked at how his previous flush darkened. Futamata noticed and snorted.

“You’re such a nerd, Yūji.”

Terushima retaliated via a tackle. “Who’re you callin’ a nerd, Potternerd?”

“It’s _Potterhead_!”

Bobata laughed loudly at their fight, grasping the chance to take Terushima’s attention away from the teams’ deception, and egged them on. Shōyō and the other Johzenji member – Arata? – watched with amusement.

“Oh, yeah,” the boy said, sticking out his hand, “Tsuchiyu Arata.”

Shōyō shook it, smiling kindly. “Hinata Shōyō.”

Tsuchiya turned to the wrestling, squirming teens on the floor. It looked more like a tickle fight in Futamata’s favor rather than Terushima’s. Bobata had stopped egging them on, and was searching for another game to play. His mind made, Shōyō replied to Kenma and Akaashi.

 **[17:00] Me:** _While I am a bit disappointed I had to find out thru Bokuto, I am v happy for you two!!!! I’m gonna bake ya’ll a cake_

 **[17:00] Kenma :3:** _...ya’ll…_

 **[17:00] Me:** _don’t attack me like thi s_

 **[17:00] Keiji -_-:** _Thank you, Shoyo-san. How can I make this up to you?_

 **[17:00] Me:** _u don’t hav to do anything, Keiji. Just be happy, kay?_

The tickle fight had ended while he texted Kenma and Akaashi, and another game had commenced between the four teens. Shōyō was content to sprawl himself on the couch, watching them and giving tips whenever he could (though, those tips mostly consisted of him screeching, “that way!” or “They’re _behind_ you!”), languidly texting Kenma and Akaashi about their relationship. Then, as he typed out a reply to an enthusiastic Bokuto, Yachi called him.

He answered promptly, because Yachi _never_ called him. “H-hello?”

 _“Shō-kun,”_ Yachi whispered furiously. _“Please, please tell me you are home right now.”_

Shōyō blinked. “Um. I’m not. Why? Is something—?”

 _“The team is coming over, remember?”_ Yachi hissed out. _“What do you think they’ll do if they show up at their sick teammates’ house, and said teammate isn’t there?”_

His blood ran cold. Futamata’s and Bobata’s squabbling faded in the background. He turned to Terushima, gripping his shoulder in a vice grasp, and said, “We’re fucked.”

Terushima paused his game. “What?”

Tsuchiyu raised his eyebrows. “Why’re you fucked?”

 _“Fifteen minutes is all I can give you!”_ Yachi told him and, in the background, he heard Shimizu calling her name before she ended the call, scrambling to avoid suspicion.

“We have fifteen minutes until I’m screwed forever,” Shōyō said, jumping to his feet, mind whirling with all the ways this would go entirely, disastrously wrong. “I’m going to be _expelled_ – kicked _off the team_ —!”

“Whoa, whoa,” Terushima said, running a soothing hand through Shōyō’s curls. “Slow down. What’s going on?”

“My team is going to be at my house, expecting a sick teammate, in less than fifteen minutes,” Shōyō wailed, his stomach at his feet, dread curling in his heart.

Terushima’s expression settled into determination. “You have your things?”

Shōyō nodded. All he’d brought with him were his house keys and his jacket. He opened his mouth then, because his clo— “You can get your clothes tomorrow, no worries,” Terushima cut off his train of thought before he developed. He struck a quick, comical pose. “To the motorcycle!”

Bobata, Futamata, and Tsuchiyu yelled out encouragements as they ran to Terushima’s motorcycle.

“Good luck!”

“Don’t die!”

“IF you do though, can I have the keys to your house, Teru?”

Terushima laughed at that. “Fuck you, Arata!”

Shōyō and Terushima wasted no time climbing onto the bike, and it purred to life underneath them. The sky was darkening, the sun setting earlier since winter had possessively laid claim on Japan, and Shōyō shivered from the wisps of cold wind. Sensing his shiver, Terushima handed Shōyō his jacket, who raised an eyebrow conveying his question.

“You’re cold,” Terushima said. “Take it.”

The jacket was warm.

It was warm to the point where the heat curled in the pit of Shōyō’s stomach. He wrapped his arms around Terushima’s waist tightly as he led them through the curling streets as fast as he possibly dared to. The last thing they needed was to skid on some ice in the road, or lose control of the bike, so while Terushima was fast, he wasn’t tempting fate.

As they sped up the curving slope of the road snaking up the mountain to Shōyō’s house, they bypassed an overflowing truck. Said trucks’ bed was filled with teens, their laughter and exuberance floating in the quiet air. Shōyō cursed quietly, recognizing those familiar sounds, recognizing the c _ar_. They only had a few precious minutes, possible seconds, before it was revealed that he wasn’t sick, simply skipping school because he went to a party the other night (though the sex was definitely a positive).

Terushima managed to lose the truck at a bend, passing the little twins’ home, and decided to speed up some more. His foot was comfortable on the gas pedal, and Shōyō held on tighter as the wind bit harshly against his unprotected skin.  They turned sharply into his driveway, and Shōyō scrambled off the bike, hobbling and tripping in his haste. He yanked his door open, dashing inside as he saw bright headlights climbing closer.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he repeated as he flung his shoes off his feet, pulling on socks, and turned on the hot water in his sink. Tissues and toilet paper was balled up and spread randomly across his bedroom floor, accumulating in clumps near his bed, and Shōyō splashed the hot water on his face. He winced at the slight feel of the scalding water, but it made him look sweaty and exhausted. He paused, catching sight of his sketchbooks and drawing scattered on the floor, and hurriedly shoved them underneath his bed.

He cringed at his actions, terrified that he’d smudged _something._

From preteen days spent fooling his parents into letting him stay home, Shōyō had a thermometer stashed in his bedside drawer. Its’ temperature was fixed at a degree where a fever was normal, but not alarming. All he’d need was bedrest, not a hospital. He set it aside on the table and dove underneath his covers, burrowing himself in the heat, as he heard Yachi ruffle around for the spare key. He’d texted her where it was, to keep up the pretension that he was sick and too bedraggled to open the door.

“Sh—Hinata-kun?” Yachi called, catching herself before she called Shōyō by her nickname for him and unleash the Inquisition 2.0 from the other members.

Shōyō called, in a weak, muffled voice, “In here, Yacchan!”

Footsteps made their way in his direction, surprisingly, thoughtfully, soft treads on his wooden floors. Yachi appeared in his doorway first, a kind smile on her lips. At first glance, you wouldn’t expect Yachi to be the kind of girl who had once drunk a twenty-year-old under the table. You’d expect her to wrinkle her nose at the scent of wine, not chug it down like it were water. Yachi, outwardly, looked like the kind of girl dedicated her studies and family, spending countless hours thinking of trivial topics, or squeal about her crush with her friends—and Yachi _was_ all those things, those traits, but there was a decadent part of her personality shrouded behind her nervous blushes and stammers.

“How are you feeling, Hinata-kun?” Yachi questioned softly, pressing her hand against his forehead as a means of “checking his temperature”. There was a twinkle in her eyes, displaying her amusement for the situation. “Wow, you’re really warm.”

Shōyō was going to buy her shoes. He was. Yachi was a life saver. A _goddess_.

Sawamura, Sugawara, Yamaguchi, Tanaka, Nishinoya, and Asahi trailed inside of his bedroom. Asahi stayed near the doorway, wringing his wrists and shrinking to make himself appear smaller and less intimidating. Sugawara brandished a bowl of steaming liquid, and he placed it on Shōyō’s bedside table with a soft wink and smile.

“It’s my mothers’ secret recipe,” he said. “It’s delicious, trust me.”

Shōyō hummed.

 “I’ve never seen you like this, Shōyō,” Nishinoya said.

Shōyō blinked, not knowing how to reply. Near his pillow, his phone buzzed. Without looking, Shōyō knew it was Terushima.

“How’re you feeling?” Tanaka asked him.

In the most pitiful voice Shōyō could muster, he said, “Like shit.”

Near his doorway, Asahi snorted quietly.

“Hinata!” Sawamura frowned at him, his tone chiding. “Please, watch y—,”

“Oh, hush Daichi, he’s sick,” Sugawara cut him off. His lips were pursed, and he arched his eyebrow in a way that made Sawamura pale and close his mouth.

Shōyō and Yachi watched the exchange curiously.

“A-ah, your worksheets, Hinata!” Yamaguchi exclaimed, pulling himself away from the scene before him. He held a dark green folder, and placed it on Shōyō’s desk. “There are notes in there, too, and I added some comments to what the teachers wrote. Um, to make it, uh, easier to understand, I guess?”

Shōyō made a noise in the back of his throat, a soft chirping sound, and Yamaguchi took it as his way of saying thanks.

“T-take medicine, Hinata,” Asahi advised in that kind, soft way of his. “A-and drink a lot of water, too.”

Shōyō nodded.

A gleam of mischief appeared in Yachi’s eyes as she asked, “Ne, Hinata-kun, whose motorcycle was outside your house?”

Tanaka and Nishinoya perked up in interest.

“Yeah, Shōyō!” Nishinoya said, practically yelling with his excitement.

“That bike is so cool!” Tanaka exclaimed. “Whose is it?”

Nishinoya bounced on his toes. “Ooh, ooh, do you think they could give us a ride?!”

“That’d be awesome!”

Screw the shoes, Shōyō thought as his mind raced with possible explanations.

Yachi was getting coal.

Away from the view of others, Yachi smirked.

Thankfully, Sawamura clamped his hands on the second years’ shoulders. They gulped at the dark look on Sawamura’s face. “Stop being a nuisance,” he said. “Hinata is _sick_ , since you’ve forgotten.”

Tanaka and Nishinoya were sheepish.

“Sorry, Shōyō.”

“Sorry, Hinata!”

Shōyō waved off their apologizes, smiling “weakly”. _This is exhausting,_ he thought to himself.

“Anyway, you need your rest,” Sugawara said, shuffling the others out of his room with gentle but firm pushes. Yachi didn’t move from her spot, only stepped away from the group. “We’ll take our leave.” Sugawara furrowed his eyebrows at the way Yachi remained where she was. “Yachi-san?”

Yachi gave Sugawara a sweet smile. “I’m fine, Sugawara-senpai, my mom is picking me up.”

Sugawara nodded. With a few more goodbyes, the storm of Karasuno members left his home. Yachi and Shōyō were quiet, listening intently until the sounds of Asahi’s truck faded from the quiet air surrounding Shōyō’s home.

Yachi laughed when a pillow was thrown, furiously, in her direction. “I’m sorry,” she chuckled, “But I couldn’t resist, ok?”

“And people call you an angel,” Shōyō sniped.

Yachi snickered, sticking her tongue out at him, and plopped down on his bed. She plucked his phone from where it was and unlocked it, fingers easily tapping out his code. She hummed a quiet song to herself as she opened the newest text message.

“There’s a party this weekend,” she told him. “Koganegawa says it’s near his place.”

“You wanna go?” Shōyō asked, peeling his covers off him.

Yachi shrugged.

A smile curled on Shōyō’s lips as he teased, “Oh? So, you’ll only go to the parties Runa-chan goes to, huh?”

A bright, vibrant blush spread on Yachi’s cheeks as she huffed, scowling. “Shut your mouth!”

“But you _love_ my mouth,” Shōyō said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Yachi rolled her eyes. “Terushima loves it more than me.”

“Hell yeah he does.”

They stared at one another for a moment before laughter floated in the air. Once their mirth dispersed, Yachi made herself more comfortable on his bed.

“So?” she said, propping her chin on her hands. “How was it?”

Playing oblivious, Shōyō said, “How was what, Yacchan?”

Yachi punched his calf. “You know what I mean!” she lowered her voice, as if someone were to overhear her words. “Sex.”

“With Terushima?” Shōyō asked, and Yachi nodded. He hummed, searching for the right words. “Best sex I’ve ever had so far. Ten out of ten.”

“Would recommend?” Yachi giggled and snorted when Shōyō gave a serious nod.

“Tongue rings were a blessing from Heaven,” Shōyō said, shivering as he remembered all the things Terushima had done to him.

“Given the amount of hickies on your hips,” Yachi said dryly, “I can see that you enjoyed yourself.”

Shōyō yelped, yanking his shirt upwards to see the marks Terushima left on his pale skin. He groaned, “How am I supposed to hide _this_?”

“Sheer dumb luck,” Yachi deadpanned.

Shōyō threw another pillow at her.

 


	3. | T H R E E |

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Haikyuu!! No copyright infringement intended. This is purely for entertainment purposes. Haikyuu!! belongs to Furudate Haruichi. I apologize for any spelling errors and the like. I also apologize for any inaccuracies of the manga/anime and Japanese culture in general. I do not intend to offend anyone, and I am still researching.
> 
> Sorry I took so long! I just graduated high school, and I'm preparing for my college orientation in a few weeks. I've also been recovering from my surgery but I'm all clear now! This chapter was so much fun to write. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**[18:23] Yū-chan:** _I hid in a fuckng bush for u_

**[18:23] Me:** _new phone, who dis_

**[18:24] Yū-chan:** _AFTER ALL IVE DONE FOR U THIS IS HOW IM REPATED?????_

Shōyō laughed and Yachi jumped, startled, at the way he disrupted the peaceful silence between them. Yachi leaned over his shoulder, peering at the messages, and snorted. She turned back to her homework, and Shōyō ignored the worksheets in front of him. Make-up work was hell.

**[18:24] Yū-chan:** _I can heAR YOU LAUGHING TA M E_  

**[18:25] Yū-chan:** _I gotta bla s t tho_

**[18:25] Yū-chan:** _Apparently, my manager went to my house and is like murdering Tsuchiya???_

**[18:25] Me:** _!!!!?!!??!?!?!?_

**[18:25] Yū-chan:** _same tho_

**[18:25] Yū-chan:** _don’t miss me too much Shōyō ;)_

**[18:26] Me:** _dw I wont_

**[18:26] Yū-chan:** _fckin rood_

A minute passed, and the sound of Terushima’s bike rumbled down the road. Silence settled between Yachi and Shōyō, a peaceful silence. They didn’t need words to communicate—sometimes, silence was enough for them. Yachi’s phone pinged, her phone brightening with a text message from Johzenji’s youngest manager, Kuribayashi Runa.

“Ooh, ooh,” Shōyō said, pressing and draping himself against Yachi’s side. “What’d Kuribayashi-san want?”

“If you would _wait_ ,” Yachi glared at him, and he stuck out his tongue at her. Yachi unlocked her phone and opened her messaging app, scrolling to the newest message available. A curious noise curled in the back of her throat as she wondered on what Kuribayashi wanted from her.

**[18:46] Runa-chan:** _Hey, Hitoka-chan, I have a question for you. Please reply when you’re available._

Shōyō raised his eyebrows and teased, “Hitoka-chan?”

“I will _kick_ you,” Yachi growled before turning her attention to replying. Once the message was sent, she eyed the amount of worksheets Shōyō had sprawled on his bed. “You should do that, you know.”

“I don’t _wanna_ ,” Shōyō whined, pouting childishly.

Yachi rolled her eyes. “Come on,” she cajoled. “The more you do, the more time you have to play volleyball.”

Shōyō twitched. While he didn’t dislike school (he loved learning mainly for the sake of learning), he disliked the way he was written off as an airhead or a dumb jock. He disliked being surrounded by small-minded, judgmental teenagers. He disliked the way his teachers scowled at him or ignored his presence or called him out merely for the sole purpose of embarrassing him to “make a point”. He had a small attention span, he could admit to that, and he could go to bed at a better time, but after years and years of being written off as a “problem child”, Shōyō had given up on the school system.

His family was supportive of him, and his parents had countlessly told him that they would be behind him no matter what he did.

He sighed, his urge to play the sport he was most passionate about had outweighed his distaste for worksheets and problem sets. He started on math, since it was his weakest subject currently, and read the notes his teacher wrote for him. Fifteen minutes passed, and Shōyō was buried in the beginnings of trigonometric functions. His head swam with numbers, and Yachi’s phone pinged.

They abandoned their homework in favor of crowding over the phone.

**[18:57] Runa-chan:** _pls tell me ur gay_

Yachi jolted, like she was struck, her mouth opened in shock. “W-w-w-what does this _mean?!”_ Yachi shrieked, her words slurred with her stammers. “What is s-she trying to _say_? Is _she asking me out?!”_

“Yacchan!” Shōyō yelled, grabbing her shoulders. “Breathe with me, okay? Breathe.”

Her breath stuttered and hitched every other breath, but she looked calmer than how she was. She typed out a careful yet flustered reply: _I am like the queen of gay._ When it sent, she threw her phone down on his comforter.

“Shōyō, why didn’t you stop me?” she yelled at him. “Why did I _say_ that?”

His lips twitched with amusement, and Yachi smacked his shoulder. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“I wasn’t laughing!”

“Was to!”

“Was not!”

“Was to!”

“Was not!”

Her phone pinged, and Yachi dove for it.

**[19:00] Runa-chan:** _ok so like there’s this boy right this fuckng chil d and he leik asked me out right and I’m a gay too like im so fuckn gay a rainbow dims in comparison ok so like I obvs panic bc reasons and lik basically told him “I got a gf” and like,,,,he wants….prooof like fr proof and in person an all that loveliness and like pls???? help me????? Ur the only one I can trust w this,,,I will give u donuts for life_

Yachi blinked.

Shōyō had no words.

_Well, this was unexpected._

“Are you gonna do it?” Shōyō asked her, seeing her blinking pensively at her keypad. Yachi worried her bottom lip, staring at her phone in silence. “Yacchan?”

She blinked slowly, pulling herself out of her shocked stupor. “I’m going to do it,” she declared as she thumbed a response to Kuribayashi. She stuck her tongue out at the look Shōyō gave her. “It’s _free donuts_ , Shō-kun!”

Shōyō raised an eyebrow, but turned his attention towards his worksheets. He could see this ending in a horrible way—ways in which Yachi sobbed over a tub of ice cream, surrounded by crumpled tissues, on his bedroom floor. When the text was sent, Yachi sagged against Shōyō’s side and blew a raspberry. They stayed in that position until Yachi’s mother called her, saying she was outside.

“See you, Shō-kun,” she said, grabbing her bookbag. She paused, hands on the strap of her bag, and narrowed her eyes. “You _are_ coming to school tomorrow, right?”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

Shōyō nodded. “Bright and early, I’ll be there!”

She smiled, and soon disappeared from his doorway. Shōyō laid down on his bed, counting the cracks in his ceiling, ignoring the worksheets he’s yet to complete. White noise floated in the air—a few woodland animals scurried through the trees near his window, the wind rustled some leaves, and crickets chirped their songs. He sighed, the heavy noise echoing, and rolled onto his side. If there is one thing Shōyō hated, it was being alone.

He loathed the way silence filled up empty spaces of where people once settled, loathed the way loneliness felt cold and horrible against his throat, against his lungs. As he waited for his family to come home, sleep pulled at the edges of his mind. Shōyō fell asleep to the sound of Natsu stampeding through the house, a hurricane too wild to be contained.

The next morning, before the sun rose in the sky, Shōyō hopped off his bike. He was a few minutes late to practice, but he knew that if he didn’t show up, a certain blonde would literally murder him. Contrary to popular belief, Shōyō wasn’t an idiot. He liked being alive. Nervously, he clutched his gym bag as he made his way to the gym. He wasn’t sure if they’d let him practice since he was, technically, recovering from his “cold”.

Momentarily, the gym went quiet at his arrival, and Shōyō blanched at the attention. It was unnerving, having all those eyes on him.

“Hinata,” his advisor gave him a kind, concerned smile. “How are you feeling? Are you sure you’re alright to be here?”

Shōyō nodded. “My fever went down, miraculously, and my mom gave the ok.”

Takeda nodded and ushered Shōyō onto one of the empty chairs near the sidelines of the court. “Take it easy, Hinata,” Coach Ukai told him in his normal stern way.

Shōyō nodded, almost shivering at the glare his coach gave him. It was one that promised death if not obeyed. Across the gym, Yachi waved cheerfully. He felt restless, being unable to play, as he watched his team go through their drills with vigor and enthusiasm. Practice ended, shorter since exams were rearing their ugly heads, and Shōyō made his way to his classroom. For once, he was earlier than his homeroom teacher.

Morning lessons dragged onward, and soon it was time for lunch. With a grateful air, Shōyō plopped down next to Acchan underneath what they had called “their tree”. It was a cherry blossom tree in one of the various courtyards Karasuno had. As soon as he sat down, Acchan began to enlighten him, in explicit detail, of his latest conquest. A few minutes into his delicious bento, a shadow stretched over them. Acchan, who was waxing poetry over their sinful hands, paused and stared curiously at the newcomer. Shōyō looked up and smiled at his teammate, Yamaguchi Tadashi.

“Tadashi!”

“Hey,” Yamaguchi smiled, though he looked nervous. “Is it ok if I sit here with you?”

“Sure,” Shōyō chirped. “Oh, this is Acchan—he’s, like, practically my brother.”

Acchan grunted in reply, but that was normal since Acchan was a brute.

They ate in comfortable silence, the sounds of others disrupting their quiet peace. Yamaguchi broke it, however, once he set his chopsticks down, and said, nonchalantly, as though he were commenting on the weather, “I know you weren’t sick, Hinata.”

Shōyō froze, sputtering a reply. “I – I, um— _fuck_ …”

Yamaguchi laughed. “Chill. I won’t tell. Your acting was, surprisingly, superb except you didn’t have that glassy-eyed look associated with being sick. I was the only one who noticed it, though.”

_Huh_ , Shōyō thought, _learn something new every day_ _—wait, does this mean my parents knew I wasn’t sick?_

Before Shōyō could dissolve into a panic over the thought of his parents discovering his previous deceptions, Acchan looked up from his phone, ignoring the panic sprawling over his friend’s face since he was used to Shōyō’s dramatics, and asked, “Shō, are you going to the party by Datekō this weekend? That giant setter friend of yours is hosting it, I think.” 

“Only if Yacchan is,” Shōyō replied, a momentary lapse in his judgement seeing as he had forgotten about a certain teammate blinking in his direction—a teammate who was under the stringent assumption of his alleged innocence and purity. “And Yacchan will only go if Kuribayashi-chan goes.”

Yamaguchi blinked before he smiled, an excited gleam in his eyes, and said, “You go to parties, too?!”

Shōyō squawked, remembering his company, but narrowed his eyes pensively, catching the key word Yamaguchi had said. “…too…?” he murmured.

Yamaguchi flushed, a bright pink flooding his cheeks. “Yeah.”

His reaction caused Shōyō’s curiosity to awaken from its’ slumber.

“Where do you go?” Acchan asked, raising an eyebrow. “I haven’t seen you at the ones I attend, but I mostly go to the ones near, ah, Shiratorizawa.”

“Acchan’s a traitor,” Shoyo teased in a mock-glum way.

Acchan scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Shut your nasty ass mouth, Shō.”

Shōyō snickered and turned his attention back to Yamaguchi, who was gathering his courage to explain.

“Mostly Aobajōsai,” Yamaguchi explained. His voice was quiet and soft, almost hesitant, causing Shōyō to raise a curious eyebrow. “Since, um, my, uh, boyfriend goes there.”

Shōyō jolted, like he was struck, and said, “Boyfriend? Who?” he paused, and blinked, before his eyes widened, a thought pinging in his mind. “You mean I could’ve had a party buddy _this whole time_?”

There were few parties Yacchan followed him to, so Shōyō was normally stuck at parties with Acchan or Kōji, who abandoned him in favor of a warm body. He didn’t mind it, since he did the same to them if he met anyone who didn’t see a child when they saw him and were interested enough, but it did get a little lonely sometimes. 

“Oi!” Acchan yelped. An indignant look crossed over his features as he jabbed his chopsticks in Shōyō’s direction. “What the hell am I, then? Celery?”

“You’re a horrible party buddy! All you do is have sex in strangers’ houses!”

“Like _you’re_ any different? You fucked that tongue-ring guy more times than I can count in two days!”

Yamaguchi’s jaw dropped from shock at the new information but Shōyō laughed, unbothered, because this was normal for their fights. “ _Well_ ,” he said with a sensuous purr as he felt phantom fingers, phantom lips, on his skin from memory. “If you knew the things that tongue ring can _do_ —,”

“Don’t want to hear it!”

Mind churning, Yamaguchi whispered, “Terushima Yūji?”

“Yeah,” Shōyō nodded. “We met at a party, had sex, et cetera. The whole shebang.”  Ignoring Acchan’s snort, Shōyō turned a steely eye at Karasuno’s resident jump float server, sans Kinoshita. “Now. I want a _name_.”

Shōyō was being a little overprotective, but Yamaguchi was the first high school friend Shōyō had made. In the beginning, they kept their friendship on the DL, simply because Yamaguchi didn’t want Tsukishima to get prickly and cold like he used to, and Shōyō was too busy getting into heated arguments with Kageyama during that time, but they bonded over music and art. Yamaguchi was more into photography than painting and sketching, but Shōyō had his own photography craze back in middle school so he understood the topic more than enough.

Yamaguchi shrunk into himself, biting his lip, and replied, “Oikawa Tooru.”

“The Grand King?” Shōyō asked, though he already knew the answer. His eyes glinted with an impish air. “Nice, Tadashi, get that di—!”

_“S-Shōyō!”_ Yamaguchi shushed his teammate with flustered, flailing hands. “N-N-Not so loud!”

Shōyō raised an eyebrow, glancing around the courtyard. No one gave the first-year trio a second thought, too enthralled in their own circles of friends and obliviousness. _Ah,_ he thought to himself, a realization burning in his mind. _Tsukishima doesn’t know about them, most likely._

Yamaguchi confirmed his thoughts when, once he wrangled his blush under control, he said, “Tsukki doesn’t know, okay? I don’t think he’ll take it well that I’m, uh…”

His voice trailed, words evading his grasp.

“Gayer than a rainbow?” Acchan suggested.

A snort slipped off Yamaguchi’s mouth but he nodded. “Yeah. That.”

“No worries,” Shōyō smiled before swiping a piece of meat from Acchan’s bento, ignoring his friends’ annoyed squawk. “Contrary to popular belief, I can be subtle and secretive.”

“He’ll take this to the grave if you want him to,” Acchan added around a mouthful of bread. “Don’t worry, Shō isn’t _just_ a volleyball idiot.”

“Oi! Look who’s talking you track junkie!”

“You take that back, you fucking _slut!”_

“Don’t call me that, you kinky whore!”

Yamaguchi laughed, and his worried expression ebbed from his features. Shōyō continued bickering with Acchan, the two of them commencing their daily roasts of the other, trading insults at one another that made those passing by their tree wonder if they were fighting or joking, and was quietly relieved to see that the anxiety of Tsukishima discovering his sexuality had faded from Yamaguchi’s eyes. Lunch ended with Acchan wrangling a promise out of Yamaguchi and Shōyō to attend Datekō’s party over the weekend.

“Bring your boy-toy,” Acchan told a crimson Yamaguchi. He then turned to Shōyō. “Bring that fuck-boy of yours, too, Shō.”

Shōyō cackled at Acchan’s nickname for Terushima, imagining the teens’ reaction to being called that. He skipped back to class in between Acchan and Yamaguchi, and waved them both goodbye at the entrance of his classroom, Yamaguchi going further down the hall towards Class 4, and Acchan going to the left of him to Class 2.

School passed by with a fluid grace. Shōyō had, miraculously, finished all his makeup worksheets during his free period, and turned them in with a proud flourish once school ended. His homeroom teacher gave him a quiet, but proud, beam. Takeda-sensei told him he could take a break from practice when he did so.

“Take a breather, Hinata-kun,” the kind instructor told him. “I know how exhausting today must’ve been for you.”

Shōyō wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, regardless of his undying passion for volleyball, and walked towards the bike racks. His phone buzzed for a moment with a series of rapid fire text messages from, as he called them in his mind, the Johzenji Trio.

**[15:29] Haru-chan:** _Shōyō_

**[15:29] Kacchan:** _u out of school yet_

**[15:29] Kacchan:** _these hoes are driving me mad_

**[15:29] Haru-chan:** _shōyō_

**[15:30] Yū-chan:** _shō-chan_

**[15:30] Yū-chan:** _answr me u whore_

**[15:30] Haru-chan:** _chibi-taaaaaaaaaaan_

**[15:31] Kacchan:** _save me_

Shōyō huffed a laugh at Bobata’s frustration at Futamata and Terushima before scowling in mock indignance over what Terushima called him. He leaned against his bike, the sun a comforting heat against the sharp bite of winter, and tapped furious fingers against his keypad. Students of all years streamed around him, entranced in their own worlds to pay attention to the small first year.

He responded to Bobata first, since he seemed on the brink of either throwing his best friends off a cliff or throwing himself.

**[15:31] Me:** _im out of hell Kacchan dw_

Then he texted Futamata, who seemed to be suffering from complete boredom.

**[15:32] Me:** _Haru-chaaaaaaaaaaaaaan_

He saved Terushima for last, of course. There was a certain pleasure in making the second-year await his reply, while he watched his friends receive his text messages first. Of course, Terushima figured out his tactic, and his phone pinged with a text message only a second after the reply to Futamata.

**[15:32] Yū-chan:** _so thIS IS HOW IM BEING TREATD BY U I SEE HOW IT IS_

**[15:32] Me:** _punishment for calling me a whore u whore_

**[15:32] Yū-chan:** _the words tht come out of ur innocent mouth_

**[15:33] Me:** _xcuse u who’re u calling innocent???_

**[15:33] Yū-chan:** _hush ur a flower and lke twelve_

**[15:33] Me:** _twelve and a half binch_

**[15:33] Yū-chan:** _THE NAMES_

**[15:34] Yū-chan:** _SCHU ROODNESS_

**[15:34] Me:** _omggg get a gri p_

**[15:34] Yū-chan:** _u wanna fight???_

**[15:35] Me:** _sure im always down for wrestling in the sheets_

**[15:35] Me:** _;)_

**[15:35] Yū-chan:** _;)_

**[15:35] Yū-chan:** _I like that plan_

**[15:35] Haru-chan:** _STOP SEXTING TERU AND GET UR CHIBI BUTT OVR HERE BEFRE I HIT IT OML_

**[15:36] Me:** _kinky im down_

**[15:36] Haru-chan:** _ayyyy_

**[15:36] Me:** _lol_

**[15:37] Kacchan:** _whAT’S THIS ABOUT A THREESOME??????? IM DOWN_

**[15:37] Haru-chan:** _oml teru’s pouting_

**[15:37] Me:** _tell hm I said to rest in fuckng pieces_

**[15:37] Haru-chan:** _will do_

**[15:37] Haru-chan:** _NOW GET OVER HERE DAMMIT_

Shōyō snickered at the way Futamata could adapt a scolding tone over an instant message. He put his phone in his pocket and unchained his bike from the rack. He strode carefully through the familiar streets leading to Terushima’s house, winding corners with caution due to the stinging wind. He entered Terushima’s neighborhood, and quietly marveled at the beautiful quaint houses; no two homes were the same. By the time he parked his bike in Terushima’s driveway, next to the teens’ motorcycle, Shōyō felt like his fingers were going to freeze off.

Bobata slammed Terushima’s door open.

“Shōyō!”

Shōyō smiled at the enthusiasm, locking his bike, and heard Futamata chanting his name with excitement inside of the house. A second passed, and Terushima’s voice joined in. Shōyō chuckled softly but made his way inside before he was dragged inside. Bobata locked the door behind him, and a beaming Futamata pulled him towards the game room.

“We’re having a tournament,” Futamata explained in a bubbly tone. “I’m kicking _ass_ in Wii Sports Resort; first place in all the tournaments we’ve done, Shō-chan!”

Shōyō raised an eyebrow and made a soft, positive noise in the back of his throat. “Impressive.”

Futamata winked and said, “Are my skills at seduction via video games working yet?”

In a dry tone, Shōyō replied, “Yup—my panties are about to drop.”

A strangled noise escaped Terushima’s and Bobata’s mouth, they both sounded like they were dying and Shōyō had the only available water source, and Futamata faltered in his steps, tongue dry. For the second time that day, Shōyō cackled with amusement. Even though, by now, it was apparent to the trio that he was, in no way, an innocent flower, he could tell that they would get momentarily deceived by his appearance, caught in the web of Shōyō’s façade he embraced around his teammates and oblivious family members, and it was extremely amusing to burst that bubble, remind them that he was no virginal sprout but a bloom of confident sexuality.

Shōyō owned his sexuality, and he owned his sexual prowess. He had no reason to be ashamed of the way he attended parties, of the way he drank and, sometimes, smoked a blunt (though he only smoked with his childhood friend, Izumi Yukitaka). He was comfortable in his skin, comfortable with the way he flirted. His family was supportive, though there were a few who looked at him like he was the epitome of innocence and ignored his subtle innuendos, and that was all that mattered to Shōyō at the end of the day.

He was always safe, and he always had the consent of the person (sometimes people, though that only happened once but, damn, was that an _experience_ ) he was with, and, if he were under the influence, he gave himself a limit. He knew when to take a breather from the parties and any sexual activities; he knew when he needed to take a step back and have a few weeks for himself; he knew when to say no to invites and cajoles, when to spend time with his family and friends. He knew his limits, what he liked and didn’t like, and that he was curious to try new things in the bedroom. If he were drinking, he knew his limit at when to stop drinking if he had gone out that night with the intent to have sex or do something sexual with another partner.

He was only sixteen, and he was having fun—safe, sane, consensual fun (but that’s also the best fun one could have, of course).

Leaving the gob smacked, sputtering teens behind him, Shōyō made his way down to the game room with a bounce in his steps. After a pause, they shuffled after him with footsteps that bordered frantic limbs, and he laughed quietly to himself. He plopped himself down on one of the bean bag chairs that didn’t have a controller in front of it, and slipped his book bag off. The trio fumbled down the steps with flushed faces—Terushima was almost as crimson as Yamaguchi during lunch, Shōyō noted with glee—and made themselves comfortable in their seats.

“Y’know, I honestly forgot,” Bobata said, a sigh on his lips. “I mean, you’ve had sex with Terushima how many times? I mean, I walked in on you removing your lips from his—,”

“Is there a point you’re trying to make, Kazu?” Futamata cut him off, raising an arched eyebrow.

“ _Yes.”_ Bobata huffed. “What I’m saying is that, despite these events, it was still a shock to me when you said…well…that.”

“What?” Shōyō raised an eyebrow, purposely crafting a look of innocuous confusion. “When I said I had on panties?”

Another strangled noise, softer than the previous one, gurgled in Terushima’s throat. Shōyō swallowed his laughter at the sight of the older boys’ red cheeks and flushed face, and the way he sunk into the bean bag chair you’d think he was trying to become it.

“Yeah,” Bobata said.

“It’s okay,” Shōyō said, a wry smirk on his lips. “I know my personality and appearance is a _mouthful_ to swallow.”

Terushima made another noise.

Inwardly, Shōyō cackled once more. This was the most fun he’s had since the threesome he participated in out of sheer curiosity a few months ago. Yachi once said there was the twisted part of him that reared its head when Shōyō became mischievous because, sometimes, Shōyō honestly loved fucking with people. No one would expect the words and innuendos to slide off his tongue with the ease that it does, and their reactions always brought Shōyō joy. According to his aunt, he got this twisted sense of humor from his mother—which made sense because his mother was absolutely demonic when she wanted to be.

_Stop being a demon,_ his mind scolded. It sounded, suspiciously, like Yachi.

Outwardly, he asked, “You okay, Yū-chan?”

“He’s fine,” Futamata waved off his concern and began to choose another game to begin after he handed Shōyō a controller. He returned to his normal countenance, and gave Shōyō another wink. The twinkle in the setters’ eyes made Shōyō realize that Futamata knew exactly what he was doing. “Teru’s just being a thirsty hoe.”

“Shut up,” Terushima said, bristling in a mock way. “I’m _always_ a thirsty hoe.”

The previous sexual tension dissolved into laughter.

“Let’s play Mario Party,” Bobata demanded. “I’m going to _cream you_ , Takeharu.”

Futamata laughed, acquiescing to the demand, and winked at the grinning teen. “Let’s save that for the bedroom, dear.”

 

* * *

 

When Shōyō crossed the threshold of his home, he was met with his mothers’ smirk. Natsu was playing with the twins again, most likely, since there were three childish voices chirping from the direction of her bedroom. Shōyō could see his father sitting on his favored armchair, relaxing from work with a ball of purple yarn and knitting needles in his hands. His mother stood before him, her curls pinned into an intimidating bun, dressed in her work clothes—a crisp, navy blue pencil skirt, pressed black blazer, and a white bow-knit blouse—with her hands firm on her hips.

_Fuck,_ Shōyō thought to himself though there was a cheery smile on his lips and a, “I’m home!” falling off his tongue. _Did I forget to do something? Shit._

“Shōyō,” his mother said, voice a silky purr.

_I’m gonna fucking die,_ he thought.

In a dry tone, much like the one Shōyō used before, his father said, “Don’t send our only son into cardiac arrest so early in his life, Chou.”

His mother pouted, and the dangerous glint in her eyes ebbed. “Aw, but _Akio_ ,” she huffed, just short of stomping her heels. “He’s been monopolized by that motorcycle boy for the past three days! A mother can’t know the men her baby hangs around?”

His father, sensing a hurricane, hummed.

Shōyō’s heart returned to a normal, healthy rhythm. “Don’t _scare_ me like that, Ma!”

His mother, unimpressed by the way Shōyō clutched his chest, cackled. There was a reason that, ever since she could walk, his mother was nicknamed “The Demonic Butterfly” by family members and close friends. Sometimes, Shōyō had to wonder how his parents married one another, much less be in a relationship since they were nineteen. His father was a skittish wedding planner (which, in Shōyō’s opinion, was an oxymoron) on the best of days, who hated large events as well as communicating with people (which was completely ironic given his job) and enjoyed knitting cute sweaters for his family, whereas his mother was a cunning, albeit manipulative when the situation required it, businesswoman (which made sense given her demonic personality that she hid under sunny smiles), who was the CEO of a corporate _monster_ as well as the business associate to other corporate monsters, and who was a social butterfly (which was also ironic, given the meaning of her name).

At first glance, they didn’t fit, his parents. Yet watching them interact in the privacy of his home for his entire life, watching the way the tension bled from his mothers’ shoulders after a hard business deal once she spent ten minutes curled up at his fathers’ side, watching the way his father became talkative and excitable whenever he brought out his pamphlets and samples for another client to get a second opinion, Shōyō knew that his parents were truly perfect for one another. They fit, like puzzles pieces you didn’t know were missing until you found them.

“Let’s have some hot cocoa, you must be freezing,” his mother said. There was a soft smile on her face as she watched Shōyō shrug off his winter coat with a pleased sigh. “We can talk about that motorcycle boy over gingerbread cookies.”

Although he’d refuse to admit it if asked, Shōyō squawked with joy at the promise of hot chocolate and gingerbread cookies. He took a quick shower, warming his bones, and slipped on some comfortable pajamas and fuzzy socks before making his way into the living room. A sitcom was on, and his father watched with rapt attention as he worked on the makings of a pretty scarf. His mother had the kotatsu set up when he bounced into the living room, the cookies and chocolate goodness waiting for his arrival.

Like always, he snuggled up to his mothers’ side and took a well-deserved bite from his cookie. It melted in his mouth, and he sighed with pleasure at the taste on his tongue. His mother snorted at his reaction and said, “Such a drama queen—just like your father.”

His father let out a squawk, protesting at the slight. “I am not dramatic, Chou!” he argued, glaring daggers over his needles. “The one whose dramatic in this family is _you_.”

“Oh?” his mother raised an eyebrow.

Shōyō took a sip of his hot chocolate, settled back, and watched the show.

“At our wedding intermission, your thought your tie was crooked and therefore insisted the world was going to end, thus cursing our marriage,” his mother said in a swift, almost unforgiving, tone. “You freaked out over our wedding gifts being a small amount, thinking the guests would be insulted even though, combined, we probably gave everyone who attended around 110,725 yen. When Shōyō was born, you said you were going to break him because he was so tiny, and then proceeded to become an anxious mess whenever he so much as hinted as going to cry.” His mother paused, a triumphant grin on her lips, and she asked, “Need I continue, my dear?”

His father pouted and wilted, grumbled under his breath, and turned back to his scarf.

Shōyō, after watching the display, felt sorry for those who looked at his mother and assumed she would be easy to manipulate.

“Now, Shōyō,” his mother turned to him, smiling wide. Her teeth intimidated him immensely. Shōyō took another sip of his hot chocolate. “Talk to me about motorcycle boy.”

“Well, first things first,” Shōyō said after he swallowed another bite of a cookie. “His name’s Terushima Yūji, but I call him Yū-chan, and he’s a second-year in high school.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, thank you all for your support and kind praise! I truly don't deserve it. To be honest, in the beginning, I was just fucking around when I wrote this story, but then your lovely responses made me continue it and it's grown on me to the point where this is, like, my baby. Don't worry about me abandoning it because these chapters are very fun for me to write!
> 
> \- Hinata's moms' name is Chou, which means means butterfly, It was either this or Hikaru, which means light.  
> \- Japanese Weddings: There is an intermission where the newly married couple changes dress and then greets their guests as a newly formed union (it's similar to a wine-and-dine sort of thing). Traditionally, the couple also gives the guests gifts instead of the other way around like in Western weddings. The traditional gift is money in intricately designed envelopes to display the families' wealth and clout.  
> \- 110,725 Yen is approximately $1,000 USD; or around that amount since I used various sites for the conversion but they were around that particular amount. 
> 
> Scream w me about HQ!! at my tumblr: @sleepykenmas


	4. | F O U R |

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Haikyuu!! No copyright infringement intended. This is purely for entertainment purposes. Haikyuu!! belongs to Furudate Haruichi. I apologize for any spelling errors and the like. I also apologize for any inaccuracies of the manga/anime and Japanese culture in general. I do not intend to offend anyone, and I am still researching.
> 
> Enjoy!

Soft beams of sunlight poked into his room. As he drifted to awareness, Shōyō felt the warmth of another person pressed against his side. Arms circled around his waist in a tight hold, lean legs were tangled with his own, and a face nuzzled the crevice of his neck—the unknown warmth was spooning him. Shōyō’s first thought was his little sister, since Natsu was known to curl up next to him whenever she had nightmares, but Shōyō batted the thought away. Natsu had a sleepover with the twins. His childhood friends, Kōji and Yukitaka, lived far away from the mountains so that only left—

“Acchan,” he said; his voice dripped with sleep. “Why—?”

“Shh,” Acchan murmured. His breath was scalding against Shōyō’s neck. “’M tired.”

Shōyō huffed a soft laugh. They stayed curled around one another, drifting in and out of a comfortable sleep. The house was quiet—his mother had left for a three-day conference, Natsu was at a sleepover, and his father was in the living room, probably, pouring over his various wedding albums for his latest client. It wasn’t until Shōyō felt himself falling into a deep slumber that a phone began to ring obnoxiously loud.

Acchan’s groan made Shōyō’s bed tremble. He reached over Shōyō to grab his phone, which began the second round of the ringtone, and muttered, “ _Who_ the living fuck is ruining my sl—?” Acchan paused, squinting at the Caller ID, and huffed before answering. “Oi, pitiful existence, what the fuck do you want?”

Shōyō snorted at the nickname.

“Now?” Acchan said. “Listen, you hoe, I don’t _care_ how pretty Yahaba What’s-His-Name _is_ —,” Acchan was cut off, and Shōyō could hear the slightly hysterical tone from the other end. He only knew one Yahaba: the second-year setter at Aobajōsai High School. Acchan rolled his eyes, almost violently, and snapped, “—I don’t care what his name is, you’re disrupting my sleep!” the person on the other end continued, and, with frustration, Acchan rubbed the side of his face. “You _what_ —please tell me you did not _stalk him on his date_ ,” he paused, listening to the response, and sighed. “How do you stalk someone on accident?”

“That’s an oxymoron,” Shōyō quipped sleepily.

“True,” Acchan muttered, and then said, “I wasn’t talking to _you_ , you walking container of salt, I was talking to Shōyō.”

Acchan fell silent, listening to the others’ woes. After a minute or so of listening, he untangled himself from Shōyō, who made a noise of complaint. His best friend was a heat insulator, and Shōyō was very comfortable in their position. “Meet me in the café in an hour,” Acchan instructed, gruff and to-the-point, before he poked Shōyō’s cheek. “Wake up, slut, we’re going out.”

Another noise of complaint rolled of Shōyō’s tongue as he vainly tried to burrow deeper into the warmth of where Acchan laid. “No,” Shōyō whined petulantly when Acchan began pulling his warm covers away from his grasp. “I don’t wanna.”

“Get _up_ , whore.”

“Leave me the fuck alone.”

“Nope,” Acchan said, popping the “p” like one popped bubblegum. “If I gotta suffer dealing with this love-struck fool, then so do you.”

“I hate you,” Shōyō huffed. He pushed Acchan off and hopped out of bed.

Acchan snickered. “No, you don’t.”

Shōyō sighed and, with a grumble, picked out clothes to wear before stomping towards the bathroom. Acchan laughed at the small tantrum the sixteen-year-old threw and whistled provocatively when Shōyō left the bathroom. Shōyō rolled his eyes, not paying the teen any mind—all he wore was his normal pair of black skinny jeans and a blue sweater. He grabbed his beanie and slipped into his winter jacket.

Acchan was dressed in jeans, a shirt, and his black track jacket.

“You’re buying me breakfast,” Shōyō grumbled once he grabbed his phone and keys.

“Yeah, yeah.”

His father was, in fact, in the living room. He sat under the kotatsu with a mug of coffee in his hands, and opened albums surrounding him. Every few sips, he turned the page of one of the albums, muttered under his breath, and jotted down an acronym only he understood. The news channel was on, and the forecast predicted snowfall within the next two weeks.

“Bye, dad,” Shōyō said. “Acchan’s taking me out.”

His father hummed, distracted by the sheets before him. “Wear a condom.”

Shōyō snorted and Acchan smirked, “We will, don’t worry.”

They walked out of the house, and the air, crisp and biting, curled around them. Shōyō shoved his hands into his pockets, wishing he had the foresight to grab his gloves. “To the bus,” Acchan said, already walking down the driveway.

Shōyō rolled his eyes. “We have bikes, you know.”

“Listen, fucker, if you think I’m biking anywhere in this cold, you have another thing coming.”

The bus ride to the café was a short thirty minute journey. Shōyō had to get dragged off the bus by an irate Acchan because the bus was warm and comfortable compared to the outside air. If it weren’t for Acchan, however, Shōyō figured he would’ve fallen asleep on the bus and ended up in another town, miles away from his home. It happened once, when he was younger, and it made Shōyō wary of bus transportation.

The café— _Hitoshi’s_ —was cute and cheerful, a color scheme of gray and blue.

“Who’re we meeting anyway?” Shōyō asked, looking around Hitoshi’s with wide eyes as he soaked everything in. The smell of coffee and various baked goods felt like a sliver of heaven.

“My favorite piece of shit, besides you,” Acchan said as he scanned the menu overhead. Shōyō made a noise, a garbled, low-pitch sound of protest, and Acchan rolled his eyes. “I think you know him—it’s Shirabu Kenjirō.” Shōyō made another noise, one of shock this time, and Acchan made quick work of scanning the café. “Look, there he is.”

Shōyō looked to where Acchan was pointing and, indeed, sitting with a morose expression near the window was one Shirabu Kenjirō, setter for Shiratorizawa Volleyball Club. Despite the dismayed look on his face, Shirabu looked prim and pristine. Not a hair was out of place. He stirred his mug slowly, and stared down at his phone.

Acchan pushed him in Shirabu’s direction with a firm, “Sit and make friends.”

Knowing he had no choice in the matter, Shōyō made his way to Shirabu’s table. He plopped down in front of the second-year and, when the teen jolted to attention, smiled. “Morning, Shirabu-senpai!”

Shirabu blinked, eyes clouded with befuddlement. “Good morning, Hinata-kun. There’s no need to call me senpai.”

“Then, call me Shōyō,” he chirped.

“Okay,” Shirabu said. The teen was still confused. “So, um. Why are you here?”

“Acchan told me to sit here with you,” Shōyō said, shrugging, and rolled his eyes. “He’s such a brute sometimes.”

From the queue, Acchan turned his head in their direction and scowled. “I heard that, Shō!”

Shōyō laughed and turned his attention back to Shirabu, who blinked. "So, what’s up?” he asked the other, tilting his head to the side. “Acchan was very worried during the bus ride here.”

Shirabu’s lips twitched as he remembered why he’d called the other teen in a frenzy that morning. “I’m an idiot,” Shirabu said, covering his face with his hands as he leaned on his elbows.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Shōyō said, trying to comfort the distraught teen.

Shirabu removed his heads and deadpanned, “I climbed a tree to get away from my crush—who was on a date, might I add.”

Shōyō couldn’t contain his snort. “S-Sorry, I’m sorry.”

Shirabu made a noise in the back of his throat, a pained, almost choking, noise, and rested his forehead on the tabletop. Shōyō’s lips twitched with mirth but he reached over the table and patted the older teen on the head. The line had moved, and Acchan made his way to the counter. Shōyō didn’t bother telling the teen what he wanted since Acchan knew his order by heart.

“There, there,” Shōyō said. Shirabu made another noise. “Did he see you, though?”

Shirabu shook his head.

“Well, that’s good,” Shōyō told him. “At least, he doesn’t know how weird you really are.”

The noise Shirabu made sounded like a dying cat.

Shōyō swallowed his laughter and asked, “So, uh, who is this crush of yours?”

Shirabu sighed, shoulders drooping, and said, “It’s Yahaba Shigeru…from Aobajōsai.”

Acchan set down their orders with an impish glee directed in Shirabu’s direction. Shōyō stirred his hot chocolate (it had sprinkles of peppermint—which he loved) and watched the show before him with mirth.

“So, this is basically a Romeo-and-Juliet romance?” Acchan said as he made himself comfortable in the seat next to Shōyō.

Shirabu crinkled his nose. “I suppose.”

“I mean, you’re both from rival teams,” Acchan said. “Doesn’t your captain have, like, a thing for that third-year setter? And doesn’t said setter absolutely despise everything there is to do with Shiratorizawa? Wait—are you even friends with Yahaba?”

“I _am,”_ Shirabu said, grinding his teeth. “We’ve actually been friends since last year.”

“Ooh,” Shōyō said, sensing a story behind the older teens’ words. “Storytime!”

Though Shirabu rolled his eyes in annoyance, a fond smile grew on his lips. “We met during winter break in our last year of middle school, and discovered we had a lot in common so we swapped phone numbers and kept contact ever since. Unlike our captains…I guess our rivalry is more of a friendly competition.”

“How boring,” Acchan said, playing with a straw wrapper. “Where’s the debauchery? The _scandal_?”

Shōyō snorted.

Shirabu rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately, you’re going to have to deal with an innocent story.”

Acchan stuck out his tongue.

“So, do you want us to help you confess?” Shōyō asked, tilting his head. “I don’t know much about Yahaba-senpai, I’m afraid.”

Shirabu shook his head. “No, I—actually, I don’t want to confess.”

“ _What_.” Acchan scowled, and his face darkened. Shōyō raised his eyebrows and took a sip of his delicious beverage. Acchan looked ready to breathe fire. “ _Don’t want to_ —look here, lover boy, I didn’t spend countless nights consoling your weak ass over this love bullshit with Yahaba What’s-His-Name—,”

“It’s Shigeru,” interrupted Shirabu, in a weak voice barely overheard over Acchan’s indignancy.

“I don’t _care_ ,” Acchan snapped. “You don’t make me your love guru for half a year, and then decide not to confess? Oh, honey, that’s not how it works!”

Shōyō took another gulp of his hot chocolate. It was the only thing that kept him from laughing at the way Acchan scolded an older teen, and said older teen was cowed by said verbal chastisement. Add in the factors of Acchan lacking in the height department, much like Shōyō was, and Shirabu seemed to be a bean sprout of lean limbs, and it was quite the picture to be seen. Shōyō took another gulp, right as Acchan looked ready to begin another round.

Shōyō decided to cut Acchan off—possibly before they got kicked out of the little café. “Why?” he asked Shirabu. “Why don’t you want to confess?”

Shirabu, looking miserable, sighed. “There’re various reasons,” the love-struck teen replied. “What if he doesn’t like me back? What if he never looked at me in that way before? What if he isn’t even bisexual, much less gay? What if me confessing makes him not want to be friends anymore?” Shirabu swallowed, his breath shuddering, and continued in a soft whisper, “What if he thinks I’m—disgusting?

Acchan’s dark looks faded into something less harsh, and understanding. “Look, you can’t let yourself become controlled by hypothetical what-ifs,” Acchan said, “but if you truly don’t want to confess, then I’ll support you—if you do, though, I’ll be there for moral support.” The dark look returned when he added, “And if What’s-His-Name decides to get violent, he’ll understand very quickly why I’m the champion of the Kendo club.”

Shōyō smiled, despite the heavy atmosphere, and whispered, “Acchan’s a badass.”

“Hell yeah, I am,” he grinned.

Shirabu sniffled, eyes suspiciously wet. Shōyō pointedly looked at the napkin dispenser, and sipped at his hot chocolate, and ignored the way the older teen wiped away a few stray tears. In an awkward attempt at comfort, Acchan patted Shirabu’s hand and grimaced at the sight of his emotional state. Shirabu chuckled at the uncomfortable attempts.

After a moment, Shirabu pulled himself together and cleared his throat. “Thank you. I—I appreciate your support with all this.”

“No problem,” Acchan said. A determined look settled over his features, and Shirabu shrunk at the look he gave him. “For compensation, you’re coming to the party tonight.”

Shirabu blinked, dazed at the sudden question. “P-Party?”

“Yeah, my friend Koganegawa is having one around eight,” Shōyō explained and, as he saw the nervous gleam sprout in Shirabu’s eyes, added, “You don’t have to drink if you don’t wand to—Koganegawa always has a fair amount of soda and water available.”

Shirabu twisted his fingers together nervously. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “I’m not…good with crowds.”

“That’s fine,” Shōyō chirped, and flashed Shirabu a comforting smile. “He has a backyard, too, so you won’t be as crowded.”

Shirabu worried his bottom lip for a moment before he nodded. “Alright,” he said, after he took a steadying breath. “I’ve never really attended any parties that weren’t, like, birthday parties or family functions.”

“We know,” Acchan said, and took a sip from his coffee. “You’ve got that innocent, private-school boy look to you.”

Shirabu sputtered at the subtle slight. “What does that mean?”

Shōyō snickered into his hot chocolate. “Ignore Acchan,” he said in a soothing tone. “He’s a brute.”

“Shut the fuck up, slut,” Acchan growled lowly, as he noticed the other patrons in the coffeeshop.

“A-Ayumu!” Shirabu chided softly, a scandalized look crossing over his face.

Shōyō laughed and teasingly blew the teen a kiss. “It’s alright, Shirabu.” He soothed the frazzled, half-indignant teen on his behalf. “This is normal conversation for us.”

Acchan rolled his eyes, and took a long sip from his coffee. “Spend enough time around this one,” he jerked his thumb at Shōyō, “and you’ll discover how much of a slut he is.” At Shirabu’s slightly dark look, he added, “I’m saying this with love.”

“It’s okay,” Shōyō said, attempting to smother the laughter bubbling in his chest. “Acchan’s a filthy whore, too.”

Acchan snorted. “Don’t you forget it.”

Shirabu blinked at them, his eyes clouded with befuddlement. After a moments’ pause, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I don’t understand the two of you,” he said quietly, staring at the two of them as if they had suddenly sprouted another limb right before his eyes.

“Neither do we,” Acchan said.

They descended into comfortable conversation about random things—the sports they played, hobbies, their classmates, et cetera—and, once Shōyō drained the rest of his hot chocolate, he swapped contact information with a quietly pleased Shirabu. He was curious at the soft, proud look in Shirabu’s eyes as he left the little café, and turned to Acchan.

“He’s a little like Kenma,” Acchan offered once he noticed Shōyō’s puzzled look. “Doesn’t like crowds, and he struggles to connect with other people. So, he’s very pleased with himself that he managed to hold a conversation for so long.”

Shōyō hummed. “How’d you two meet, then?”

A brief scowl flittered over Acchan’s lips before he said, “The little shit bought the last manga serialization at this store.”

Shōyō’s lips twitched. “So, what? You fought him?”

Acchan chuckled lightly. “He looked so pitiful that day, I let him buy it.”

Shōyō raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. Although Acchan was a brute, he was a complete softy. He would grumble, and growl, and hiss, but, at the end of the day, he would go beyond what was expected for his friends. In corralling Shirabu to attend Koganegawa’s party, it was his gruff attempt at concern for his antisocial habits.

His phone pinged.

**[11:59] tadashi:** _please help_

Shōyō raised an eyebrow.

**[12:00] Me:** _what’s up?? you ok?_

**[12:00] tadashi:** _its Tooru he’s abdksja_

**[12:01] tadashi:** _yahoooo chibi-chaan it’s oikawa tooru!!!! i see you’ve invited my beloved yama-chan to a party and not me????? im shook chibi-chan_

Shōyō snorted.

**[12:01] Me:** _GRAN D KING !!!_

**[12:01] tadashi:** _YES THAT’S RIGHT IM A SOINBKFGS_

**[12:02] tadashi:** _please ignore this idiot, Shōyō_

**[12:02] Me:** _lmao what’s up tho_

**[12:02] tadashi:** _he’s whining that he wasn’t invited to the party at Datekō_

**[12:02] Me:** _lmao well let him know that I’ve invited him then_

**[12:03] tadashi:** _THANKS SHRIMPY ILY_

Acchan nudged him. “Who’s that?”

“Well, at first it was Tadashi,” Shōyō said, “and then Oikawa-san stole his phone for a bit.”

Acchan gave him a blank look. “Who’s Oikawa?”

“Tadashi’s boy-toy.”

Acchan made a triumphant noise in the back of his throat. “Ah, okay,” he said, and then turned his attention back to his phone. Shōyō was curious at the way his childhood friend was enthralled with whomever he was talking to. There was a nickname—an extremely curious: swan boi.

“Who’s that?” Shōyō asked as he slouched against Acchan’s shoulder, unabashedly eavesdropping on their conversation. His eyes narrowed at the flirty messages and abundance of emojis. “Wait, Acchan are you—.”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Acchan said, locking his phone, a dark scowl on his lips. He elbowed Shōyō, who pouted at the rough treatment. “It’s—you don’t need to worry about him.”

A teasing grin pulled at his lips. “Oho?” Shōyō’s eyes sparkled as he crooned, “A boy? _Acchan_ , you have a boyfriend and you didn’t tell me? I’m hurt!” Amusement spilled on his tongue as he saw the bright flush spread over the bridge of Acchan’s nose. “I’m gonna call Yuki—.”

“It’s not like that,” Acchan denied. “It’s not—we’re just _friends_.”

Shōyō softened at the bitter tang to Acchan’s words before he brightened with an idea. “Hey,” he chirped. “I know! If you tell me who it is, I can—,”

“Denied.”

“But, Acchan, I can—.”

“No.”

“But—.”

_“No.”_

Shōyō pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Can I at least get something of sustenance?”

Acchan mulled it over quietly before he sighed and said, “He’s a first year.”

Shōyō motioned for him to continue, and made a prompting noise.

Acchan’s sigh was heavy. “He also plays volleyball.”

Shōyō hummed, and his mind whirled a mile a minute. He played with a crumbled napkin, and thought of all the first years in volleyball that could’ve crossed Acchan’s attention. He eyed his childhood friend, who had returned to texting “swan boi”, and something in his mind clicked as he thought of swans and of volleyball. His limbs flailed from his assumption, and a wide grin stretched on his face.

“Is that Tsutomu?” he asked exuberantly. “ _Goshiki_ Tsutomu?”

Acchan’s groan was quiet; defeated.

Shōyō made a delighted, triumphant chirp that floated in the air of Hitoshi’s. Acchan scowled, sent another quick text, and threw a few pieces of the shredded napkin at him. “I hate you,” he said, though there was no bite to his words.

Shōyō smiled. “I love you, too.”

“Are we all carpooling to Datekō?” Acchan asked, eager to change the conversation.

Shōyō pondered the question. “In the beginning,” he said. “I’ll probably go home with Yuu-chan.”

Acchan sniffed. “Slut.”

“Whore.”

Acchan rolled his eyes.

The rest of the day leading up to Koganegawa’s party crawled by slowly. Shōyō lounged about his room with Acchan, languidly texting Yamaguchi, Yachi, and the trouble trio (which is what he called Terushima, Futamata, and Bobata in his mind; he felt the name fit their delinquent visage). Oikawa offered to pick them up and drive to Koganegawa’s place in his car, to which they agreed to. Shōyō did not want to take the bus or ride his bike in such weather.

Acchan started pulling clothes out of his closet after dinner. Shōyō quirked an eyebrow at his quiet determination from his bed, and paused in his sketch. “What’re you doing?” he asked. “Is Tsutomu coming?”

Acchan huffed. “No.”

“Then why are you in my closet?”

“Because,” Acchan yanked an old pair of skinny jeans off its hanger, “I have no party clothes, and I _am not_ biking back home.” 

Shōyō narrowed his eyes at the way Acchan worried his bottom lip, sorting through the many clothes in his closet. “Acchan,” he said, slowly, and sat upright when Acchan visibly stiffened, and refused to look in his direction. Shōyō gasped, “Acchan, you _hoe!”_

Acchan groaned, and covered his face with one of Shōyō’s shirts. “Why are you so intuitive? Why can’t you just be some idiot jock?”

Shōyō cackled and said, with bubbling delight, “Tsutomu _is_ coming!” then he paused, glanced at the shirt and pants Acchan chose, and leered, “in more ways than one.”

“Shut the hell up,” Acchan growled, and he gripped the clothes in his hands tightly. “I regret sitting next to you in preschool.”

“No, you don’t,” Shōyō replied, his voice a teasing croon. Amidst Acchan’s protests, he pulled him away from his closet, and began sorting through his clothes for an outfit that would suit him better. After a minute of deciding between two shirts, Shōyō threw a pair of black skinny jeans, a dark, earthy green V-neck long sleeve, and a black scarf in Acchan’s direction, who stumbled to grab the bundle of clothes.

Acchan sputtered. “What the fuck?”

“Wear that,” Shōyō chirped, ignoring the glower, and motioned Acchan to change. Yamaguchi’s ring tone floated in the air from a text. “I assure you, Tsutomu won’t be able to keep his hands off you—.”

Acchan’s pants hit him in the face. “Shut up,” Acchan yelled, face flushed. “It isn’t like that!”

Shōyō’s stomach hurt from his laughter, and he turned his attention to Yamaguchi’s text. The pinch server was in his driveway with Oikawa, and urged him to hurry up since Oikawa was “singing English Christmas carols and hurting my ears”. Shōyō snorted and grabbed his keys.

“Hurry up, Acchan,” he called to the other. “Tadashi and the Grand King are here!”

“The _who?”_

“The Grand King, Acchan!”

“Who _the fuck_ is that?”

“Tadashi’s boy-toy!”

“Oh, okay,” Acchan said, leaving the bathroom.

By his doorway, Shōyō slipped on his shoes. “Bye dad!”

“Be safe, sane, and consensual,” his father replied, more occupied with his list of bakeries in Kyoto than with what his only son was doing.

Shōyō snickered.

“Shōyō,” Yamaguchi called, a grimace on his lips. “Help me!”

Acchan winced as they got closer to the car. “Who is killing a cat?”

Yamaguchi glared at the driver. “My boyfriend.”

“Don’t be so mean, Yama-chan,” Oikawa said, a wide beam on his lips. “You love my singing voice!”

Yamaguchi’s grimace grew more pronounced when Oikawa started to sing the songs’ chorus. Yachi was already in the backseat, quietly humming to the melody and giggling at Yamaguchi’s silent misery. Shōyō’s phone pinged with another text message.

**[19:43] Yū-chan:** _are you at Datekō yet_

**[19:43] Me:** _just left!_

**[19:44] Yū-chan:** _good. The fiends left me for some outdoor debauchery_

**[19:44] Me:** _aww you poor thing_

**[19:44] Yū-chan:** _I did not come here to be attack e d_

**[19:44] Me:** _xD_

**[19:45] Yū-chan:** _skgkdsnf NO_

Shōyō jolted and grabbed Acchan’s arm and said, lowly, because he knew the sour feelings Oikawa had for Shiratorizawa, “How’s Shirabu getting to Datekō?”

Acchan’s lips twitched. “What’s-His-Name is going too, apparently, so they’re carpooling.”

Shōyō hummed, and then turned his attention to Yachi. “Yacchan,” he grinned. “I thought you weren’t coming?”

“W-well…Runa’s coming.”

“Oho?”

“I’m literally going to throw you out this car, if you start that,” Acchan said, very calmly for such a threat. Shōyō stuck his tongue out.

“Hey, hey!” Oikawa frowned, and glanced at them. “No one’s throwing anyone out of my car!”

“Pay attention to the road, boy-toy!”

Oikawa made an indignant noise in the back of his throat whereas Yamaguchi burst into laughter. “B-Boy— _Yama-chan,_ don’t laugh at that! It’s not funny!”

At his boyfriends’ exaggerated pout, Yamaguchi schooled his features and said, “Be quiet, and drive, boy-toy.”

_“Yama-chan!”_

For the rest of the drive, Oikawa aggressively blared Christmas carols and, although Yamaguchi looked ready to throttle his boyfriend, there was still a fond gleam in his eyes. Koganegawa’s house thrummed with music, and teens spilled onto the lawn and inside the house. Shōyō knew there were more inside. Oikawa parked a few feet away from the driveway.

Oikawa raised an eyebrow at the amount of people. “Firsties know how to throw a party, huh?”

“Walk faster boy-toy,” Acchan said, amused at the way the third-year bristled. “I’ve got someone to see.”

Shōyō grinned. “Sure you don’t mean someone to _eat?”_

“Shōyō, I am going to _fight you_ _—!”_

“Shō-chan!” a voice chimed above Acchan. Shōyō turned to see Terushima bounding towards him, and he smiled. Yachi disappeared once she caught sight of Runa.

“Yū-chan!”

“Glad you could make it,” Terushima said, and Shōyō shivered at the way his eyes darkened at the sight of him. Terushima then took note of three new additions, and raised an eyebrow. “Hello! I’m Terushima Yūji.”

“Oikawa Tooru,” Oikawa said and, with a sharp smile, wrapped his arm around Yamaguchi’s waist. “This is my boyfriend, Yamaguchi.”

Yamaguchi waved. “Nice to see you again, Terushima.”

Terushima blinked, puzzled, before he realized where he had seen Yamaguchi before. “Ooh, cute freckles!”

Yamaguchi flushed. “W-What?”

“None of my teammates knew your name, so we just called you cute freckles,” Terushima said with a shrug.

“Your freckles are pretty cute, Yama-chan,” Oikawa said as he stared at Yamaguchi with an adoring look. “Like little constellations.”

Pink dusted across the bridge of Yamaguchi’s nose. “T-Tooru…”

“I’m getting stomach cramps from looking at you,” Acchan sniffed, and then made his way inside Koganegawa’s house.

Shōyō snorted. “Ignore Acchan. He’s a brute.”

Yamaguchi chuckled, and started pulling Oikawa towards the front door. “See you later, Shōyō.”

Shōyō took a moment to drink in the image Terushima made, and then said, “Wanna head in? I’m pretty sure Acchan’s going to polish off any vodka Koganegawa has.”

Terushima grinned and grabbed Shōyō by the waist. “Actually, Shō-chan,” he murmured, breath hot against the tip of Shōyō’s ear. “We can do something much better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for taking so long to update!! I've recently finished my first semester of college (it's AMAZING) so I have a lot more free time on my hands to write. Once again, I'm so sorry for the wait, but I hope you enjoy this chapter! If you ever wanna chat, my tumblr is @sleepykenmas!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Updates will be gradual, since I'm busy preparing for college events (I'm a high school grad!!!), but this is going to be a chapter fic albeit a slowly updated one. 
> 
> tumblr: sleepykenmas.tumblr.com


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